


Mark Yes Or No

by teamcap4bucky



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Gen, Kidnapping, Nightmares, Self-Harm, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamcap4bucky/pseuds/teamcap4bucky
Summary: Sometimes you find the most comfort in the people you barely know, because it’s there where you’ll find the least judgment.This story loosely follows Captain America: Winter Soldier with a few differences. There are flashbacks at times. There will be some torture and abuse in the future chapters.  Trigger warnings in the additional tags.This is a work in progress.Notes:- represents reader's notes to BuckyB- represents his notes back.*reader's thoughts*





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a simple note. 

-Are you hungry? 

Next to the yes and no were two small boxes. You slid the note under the door with a small pen, and waited. 

Maybe he’s sleeping. Maybe he ran. Maybe he…

Just as you sigh in defeat, your pencil rolls back out, with the note shortly after. 

B-☑️ Yes. 

Scribbling a quick message, you slide it back under, and run. 

Tony leans back into his chair, snarky grin and all. “Come back for a second helping, or to apolog…”

“Shut up.” You gather a plate full of extra food, and a large bottle of water. Turning back to the fridge, you grab a beer too, because fuck it, you’re not really sure what’s preferred these days. 

You knock twice, stop, then a third quick knock. You wait for your paper and pencil. As if comes rolling out, you smile, jotting down a quick thought.

-Wasn’t sure what you liked. Grabbed a bit of everything. I’ll leave it here, then leave. 

-Try and get some sleep tonight.

-You stand to leave, but turn quietly when you see the pencil roll back out.

B-Thank you

-You’re welcome.  
-If you ever need anything…  
-Good night 

You roll it back under the door getting ready to run, but instead, finding yourself turning to turn to see a shadow come out from behind the wall.

You both stare at each other, recognizing the frustration in each others eyes. You knew he saw the passing of the notes, but you didn’t care. No words were spoken between the two of you, just mouths moving from afar.

“Sorry.” He mouths to you, looking sullen and guilty.

You just shrug in acceptance. “It’s okay.”

You both look at the door for a second before looking back towards each other.

“Thank you.” He says, motioning to the food at the door. 

You say nothing, just nod, turning towards your room, and shutting the door quietly behind you.

You wait, ear pressed to the door, and are satisfied when you hear the door down the hall open and close. 

“Well that went better than expected.” You say outloud to yourself.

*Earlier that evening.*

“Stop talking to him like he’s not a human being! Can’t you just leave him alone? Why are you bothering him so much about it?” You stand from your chair, slamming your hands into the table.

“We’re just curious, that’s all.” Tony says, brushing it off likes it’s no big deal.

“No you’re not, you’re just fucking nosey.” You slam the trash can lid.

“Y/N!” Steve speaks firmly. He hates it when you swear.

“Why can’t we just ask him a few questions? We just want to know who he is, what he’s like. What his damage is.” 

“What his damage is? He’s not damaged! He’s just like you and me! He just got back and he has a lot of shit going on in his life right now. I’m sure the last thing he wants to do is to talk about all the fucked up shit he went through, especially with a bunch of random strangers!”

“Who’s a stranger? We’re his friends.” Sam finally speaks up. “Well, we’re trying to be anyway.”

“No, your not! Steve is! Steve is his friend. Not you, me, Nat, or that fucking asshat over there.” You hollar over to Tony.

“There is nothing wrong with us asking…” Tony begins, but you cut him off hard. 

“Oh, there’s not? Okay, let’s talk then.” You pull out a chair, and slam back down at the table, hands under your chin leaning forward, hoping they would take in your full on bitchy demeanor. “Tony, why don’t you start. Tell me about your relationship with Howard? Was it easy growing up under Steve’s perfect sized shadow, or did it hurt when you were never good enough for dear old dad? How about you, Nat? A little Red room with some red wine?

Steve starts to wiggle in his chair. “Y/N, enough.” 

“Sam... how about you? You want to talk about Riley? Go ahead, we have time.”

“Enough!” Steve slams his hand into the table, and stares at you.

“It’s enough for them, but not enough for your best friend? You of all people should have been the first one to stop this, and you should have had his back.” You delivered the last line while pointing at him fiercely, and although it takes him a second, the look of guilt washes over his face. “He probably doesn’t want to talk about his past, because clearly, everything and everyone has changed.”

You slam your chair back into the table storming out of the kitchen. Once in your room, you’re a range of emotions. You’re angry at your team for pushing, disappointed in Steve for not defending his best friend, and guilty for bringing up everyone’s pain and throwing it their faces. Most of all, sad, because Bucky just wanted to be free again, and all they were doing was shackling him to his former life.

Nope, you weren’t going to have it. If Steve wasn’t going to help his best friend, you would. 

That’s when the notes started. 

They were short and sweet at first. 

-Did you eat today?  
-Do you want to talk?  
-Do you want to watch a movie?  
-I read a good book today, I’ll leave it for you.  
-Steve told me you like Science. Ask Friday to turn on this channel at 8pm.  
-Tony’s pants caught on fire today in the lab, it was hysterical. Ask Friday to replay the footage from the lab at 235pm.  
-The team is leaving at 2pm for a meeting. The kitchen will be free. I’ll leave lunch in the fridge for you. The two slices of pie in the foil are yours. If they aren’t there when you get there let me know, and Sam will get my foot up his ass.

If he was in the room, he would always respond back. The only time he wouldn’t, were the times when the more serious questions were asked.

-How are you feeling today?  
-I haven’t seen you for a few days. When was the last time you got out?  
-Have you talked to Steve at all lately? 

Sometimes, the notes came back under the door blank, sometimes with a few dots. On bad days, it would come back covered in pencil, lines of scribbles and tears, sometimes even crumbled up. You had started to keep track of the bad days, and quickly put together that those were the nights that he had his worst night terrors. You had requested that Friday wake you up on the nights that these occurred. At first you would go by his door, and just sit and listen. Ready to catch him if he ever fell. After the fourth night, you had decided that it was time to make contact. 

You could hear him wailing in bed. The headboard shaking, slamming into the wall. Some nights he would wake, wear himself out and fall back asleep on his own. Tonight was not that night. This one was a bad one. The screaming of names in Russian, him begging for them to stop, or worse, asking to die. You couldn’t take it anymore. You wrote out a quick note, and rolled it under the door, loud enough for him to hear it, but quiet enough not to scare him.

-You’re safe

You waited by the door on hands and knees praying for a response, only the paper never came back. Instead, you see the door buckle, and hear him push against it. His ragged breaths, his sniffling, his moans. Yours eyes well up at the sounds. You don’t know why, but you place a hand to the door and speak. 

“James. I need you to know you’re safe. It’s just you and me here right now. I won’t leave you alone. Try to go back to sleep. I’ll be right here, I’ll protect you.” 

You spent the entire night sitting in front of his door. Three hours later, he fell asleep laying on the floor. His small snores, and sniffles crossing the threshold. Five hours later, you wake to Steve carrying you to bed. 

“No, I’m not leaving him, he’s scared. I told him I’d keep him safe. Bring me back!” You mumble out half asleep, trying to wiggle against his chest. 

“I know. You did a great job. He’s awake. He’s okay.” Steve nods at Bucky, motioning for him to open your door for him. 

“He’s okay? I was worried.” Steve lays you in bed and starts to cover you with blankets, tucking you in.

“Yeah, he’s safe and sound.” Steve smiles as you doze off again, barely understanding your last few words. 

“Tell him he’s okay. I’ll sleep outside every night. I don’t care. If he needs me, just write me a…” They watch as your head drops down, your body stills and the sweet noises of sleep takeover. As you roll over, your pencil and a crumpled up paper fall from your hand. Steve picks it up and reads it. 

-Things to talk about with Bucky when he’s scared.

-Music. What his favorite song? Maybe you can sing to him at night after his nightmares.  
-Science. NASA? Maybe have Friday put the constellations on his ceiling?  
-Food. Make his favorite treat.  
-Maybe leave your door unlocked so he can hide out somewhere else if people bother him? 

Steve hands it off to Bucky. Bucky reads it, then scans the room for a pencil, and starts to scribble down some notes. He smooths out the paper and leaves it next to you to find when you wake up later on. 

As they go to leave the room, you roll over, mumbling in your sleep. “You’re safe, Bucky, you’re safe.”

There were many a nights slept on the floor outside his door. Each morning, Steve would pick you up, and bring you back to your room. The last few times, you didn’t even argue. Once or twice, Bucky was the one to bring you back, but you didn’t know. You just knew you were on your way to your room, and he was safe.

As the weeks went on, the notes continued. The longer he was here, the more he would open up to you, but only on paper. In person, he was still shy, nervous, a bit withdrawn. He was like a feral cat. He wanted to be spoken to, touched even, be part of the group. He just needed it to happen on his terms. If he was around, and there were any sudden movements, loud noises, or to many people near him, he would leave, or curl into himself, almost shutting down from anxiety. It was moments like these were you would try your best to quiet everyone, or relocate them. You had started keeping a small notebook in your pocket for times like these. On occasion, you would pass him a note, checking on his mental status. It was quick and easy, and he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, which was perfect for him. The first time you had used it was during a small dinner. 

“This is the best part right here! ‘Yippee ki yay mother…” The sounds of gunshots ring through the living room as Steve and Bucky finish their dinner. You watch with Sam and Clint, every few minutes gazing to see if Bucky was okay. It had become a habit for you. You were always making sure he was settled, but from a distance. He seems to tense every time he hears the shots, the screaming throughout making him flinch every so often. You jot down a quick note, then casually head towards the fridge. Dropping the notebook near his plate, you grab a water from inside the fridge.

-Scale of 1-10, how much is this movie bothering you?

B-7-8 my head hurts, my thoughts are...jumbled

He pushes the notebook to the side of the table, and you snatch it up while heading back to your seat. 

“Hey guys. I just had Tony install new speakers in my room. Let’s go watch this in there. It’s going to sound awesome!” 

“Yes! Okay, I got the snacks, Clint, get drinks!” Sam jumps up, pausing the movie, before heading to the cabinets. 

You turn on the Discovery Channel and hand them the remote. “It’s all yours guys.” You grab Steve’s shoulder, and nod at Bucky before heading out of the room. 

“This notebook…is it working for you?” Steve asks casually trying to act uninterested, but genuinely curious about it. 

“Um, yeah. It’s been nice actually.” 

“How does it work, with you guys I mean? Do you guys talk to each other a lot?” 

“No, not really. Just enough I guess. She checks in on me, asks if I’m…stable mostly?” Bucky can’t really describe it, but just knows it’s helping him.

“Oh. Have you ever talked without it?” He asks, taking another bite. 

“Only a little. I think she’s knows I’m not really ready for everyone yet, so she keeps her distance. No pressure, which is nice, actually. She can sense when it’s overwhelming for me. I’m not sure how, but she knows.” 

“That’s kind of nice, right?” Steve knows you’ve been checking in on him, but never makes it a big production. He pretends to ignore it, as does a few of their teammates. He’s not going to ruin a good thing.

“Yeah. She’s… not scared of me, which is helpful, I guess.”

“You're handling it well, Buck. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Keep talking to her. You guys have a good thing going on with this. Small steps, you know?” Bucky just nods as Steve pats his back. “You want to try a run tomorrow, if you’re up for it?”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good.” 

Only it didn’t sound good. You swear it had been one of his worst nights since coming to the compound. The screams were unholy. The sounds of wood breaking, glass shattering, walls being crushed by metal was terrifying. 

Steve ran into the hallway, sliding to a stop when he saw you leaning up against his door, panic in your eyes. 

“How long has he been at it?” Whispering to you as to not scare him inside.

“An hour. It was small at first, but he’s in deep right now.” He hasn’t answered me yet.” Steve looked down at the floor, no notebook or pencil to be found. “I’m worried.” 

He places his hand on the side of your face, giving you a reassuring look. “I know, me too.” 

Both of you jump back as the door rattles, as if a body had been thrown into it. 

“Bucky?” You wait, but nothing. “I’m right here, and Steve is too. You're safe, Bucky. We won’t let anyone hurt you. Remember?” Only the sounds of breathing can be heard from behind the door. “Keep breathing, Bucky, we’re here.”

You stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, wondering what your next move should be, but snap from his gaze as the pencil rolls out between you.

Picking up the paper that follows, you jump after passing it to Steve.

HELP ME

“Bucky, can we come in?”

The door opens, and all you can see is mass destruction. Shards of wood from the headboard, drywall dust covered dressers, ripped sheets. You drop your sights to the floor where Bucky sits, sweating, hair dripping, bleeding from knuckles to legs.

“Take him to my room. He can sleep there.” You tell Steve as you pull him up from the floor.

“No, if it happens again…” he mumbles, barely able to hold himself with Steve’s support.

“If it happens again, I get new stuff. Everything in that room is replaceable. You’re not.” 

You help Steve walk him through the debris on the floor, and help him across the hall. “There is a first aid kit under the sink. Shower, then go to bed.”

“But..” He tries to argue but you won’t listen.

“You had a really rough night, and you’re body went through hell. Now it needs to rest. Go shower, let Steve fix you up, and try to close your eyes.” 

“What about you?” He questions, as if you had any concerns about yourself at all. 

“Don’t worry about me. Go, rest.” As he heads towards your shower with Steve, you heard back across the hall and grab the notebook. You wrote down a quick message, and placed it on your pillow, before heading back to his room. 

Twenty minutes later Steve helps him into bed. Steve picks up the note, handing it to Bucky.

-If your mind starts to wander again, focus it on something else instead. Ask Friday to turn on “Bucky’s stars.” 

See you in the morning.

As he settles into your bed, he’s somewhat relaxed as he can smell you on everything. It’s brings a sort of comfort to him, almost as if your calmness is attached to your things. Suddenly curious, he reaches over to the nightstand, and reads your note again.

“Friday, turn on Bucky’s Stars.”

His eyes gaze upon the beautiful blues, purples and deep hues of pink that spread out above him. Small, defined twinkles of light individually blink by themselves at random. The beauty of it settles him, until he falls into a deep slumber.

Meanwhile, you take a few pics and send them off before making a call. 

“Is everyone okay?” Pepper questions, still halfway asleep.

“Yeah, no one was hurt. He was by himself.” 

“Are you okay?” She asks hearing the sadness in your voice.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I could use your help though.” 

You worked tirelessly throughout the night, cleaning the floors, taking apart the bed, trying to save anything that could be fixed. Steve patched holes in the wall, all while Bucky slept. There were delivery man coming in and out of the compound all day, all on Pepper’s order. By early evening, his room was back to normal, with the exception of a few pieces of furniture that were built a little bit stronger than the last. 

“How...why?” Bucky just stares through the door at his room, unable to express everything he had wanted to say at the moment.

“Because we take care of each other.”


	2. Mark Yes Or No

The notes became more frequent as the months went on, and the small conversations you had increased. Bucky still tended to keep to himself, but was more willing to join when it was just Steve and you together. 

“Do you want to go to the gym with me later?” The answer was always no, but you always included him in activities anyway. 

“Um...okay.” Bucky rarely looks you in the eye, and never accepts your offer, but today he seemed... different. He looked a little more rested, calm. It made you wonder what had changed, what switch had finally been flipped. Not that it mattered. You wouldn't ask or push for info, just be content in his answer to join. 

“Okay. I’m going to go get dressed and head down. Do you want to meet me there? I’m just going to run today, maybe box a little.” 

No words were said, just a simple head nod to let you know that he heard you. 

“Maybe bring some music, earphones? It’ll help block out the noise if you need it. Steve has some good music on his IPod. It’s a little bit of new, mixed with some old stuff you might like.”

Ten minutes on the treadmill. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes, and no sign of Bucky. Maybe you were wrong, maybe he was just being nice, trying to appease you by answering your questions, playing along. You can’t say you weren’t a slight bit sad, disappointed, but you understood why. Picking up your pace, you continue to pound your feet onto the moving belt below. You start to belt out the song playing from your phone, because why not, no one is there to hear you anyway. 

“Alright, alright, it’s a hell of a feeling though…”

Looking up in the mirror, a figure stands near the door of the gym, waiting to approach, debating whether or not he should even be there with you, and alone for that matter. 

Nodding towards the treadmill, taking your earphones out, you slow down your speed, gulping down a bit of water.

“Ready to run?” Bucky glances at the treadmill, then at you in the mirror. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, no one’s forcing you. It’s your decision, and yours alone, Buck, but I won’t lie, and say I couldn’t use the company.”

Bucky quietly strides across the floor. Even as he steps upon the treadmill, every move he makes is silent. Had you not looked into the mirror at the moment you did, you would have never even know he was there. 

*Jesus. Twenty bucks his targets never had a clue he was coming. Poor souls. *

“Did you bring any music to listen too?”

“No. I could kind of use the quiet right now.” He looks down at control panel and seems a bit overwhelmed. 

“Here…I’ll start you off slow, then when you’re ready, you can hit this button to increase your speed. Steve likes to hit it like fifty times when we run together because he’s a punk, and he loves to show off.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the edge of his lips lift ever so slightly.

“Was that…did you just start to smile?”

His twists his lips and furrows his brows, clearing his throat quickly. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Um…anyway, uh, you hit this button to slow down, and if you have to get off because it’s to much, pull this cord, and it shuts it all down immediately. Good?”

He looks down at your treadmill and then back at his. He started to walk slowly, then quickly increasing it up to three or four miles an hour. Then six or seven. 

The silence in the room is almost unbearable, but you keep to yourself. If he wanted to talk, you would be more than happy to join in, but if he needed silence, you would give him that too. This was the first time that he had felt comfortable, and stable enough to join you alone, and you certainly weren’t going to fuck it up by talking about the weather, or his past. Thirty minutes into him destroying you on the machine, you humbly take your loss, and begin to decrease your speed, heading into a cool down walk. 

“I don’t think they like me.” Looking over at Bucky, you’re stunned when he turns your way, engaging you in what seems to be the start of an emotional conversation. 

“They don’t even like each other, or themselves for that matter. I personally wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, but that’s just me.” While waiting for his response, you turn your machine off, and point towards the punching bags, to which he follows.

“They seem nervous when I’m near.”

“They are nervous, but...in their defense, you shot one of them...twice, and tried to kill at least four of us, so.” You shrug your shoulders in between punches. “They just don’t know you yet. They’ll come around.” 

“You’re not nervous?” As he asks the question, his eyes float up and down from the floor to your face. 

“No. I have no reason to be.” You state in a no nonsense sort of way. 

“There’s about sixty years worth of people who would say differently.”

“Mmmm. Well, Buck. There’s nothing that either of us can do about that now, and it seems pretty pointless to hold a grudge against someone for something that wasn’t their fault. The past is the past for a reason. All we can do is learn from our mistakes, and move on. You on the other hand…” You grab the bag, holding it steady, making him look up at you, curious as to why you had stopped. You wanted to make sure he was focused on what you were about to say. “You have to learn to somehow forgive yourself, because what happened to you...those people...wasn’t your fault. Winter? That’s not the real you. It wasn’t then, and it isn’t now. Sooner or later you’ll come to the realization that there is still good in you. It may take you a little longer to find it, but it’s there. It’s right here.” You begin to tap your finger over his heart, before raising it up to his forehead. You begin to tap the middle, smiling as he almost looks cross eyed staring up at your finger. “This right here…this is your biggest obstacle. Once your long haired, stubborn, Brooklyn brain catches up, everything else will fall back into place. Don’t worry about anyone else but you for now. The team? They just need time. So do you.”

The punching commences once again. You casually sneak a peek at him behind the bag on occasion, just to make sure he’s still where he should be. 

“They seem angry a lot...at each other.”

“Yeah, sometimes we fight. It happens...and we get over it.” 

“How?” It can’t be that simple he thinks. 

“We say sorry and start over. We try to never go to bed angry, and never leave on a mission without hashing our problems out first. This line of work…if something ever happened, and the last thing you said to that person was something awful?” You scrunch your face hating the thought. “Everyone here knows what the other one has gone through, but sometimes we forget. Each one of us…it’s been bad for everyone up there. We understand each other. That’s why we get along so well, but it’s also why we fight so hard…”

Punch punch punch

“... and why we love even harder.” Bucky holds the bag for you, listening, trying to absorb the words spoken.

“We take each other for granted sometimes, so every once in awhile, one us has to put the other in check. That’s usually Steve’s job. He’s pretty much our dad.” To this he smirks. You stop to shake out your arms again, taking a moment to breath. “As dysfunctional as we all are, we’re family…and I can honestly say without hesitation, that I would take a bullet for every single one of them up there, no questions asked. Just like I would for you.”

“You don’t even know me.” Your heart breaks as he stares at the floor. 

“Yeah, but I do know Steve…and I probably know more about you than you think. He talked about you a lot, you know? You guys are a lot alike actually. When he came back, he was quiet, scared, a little angry at times. Mostly though, he was confused. Who was good, who was bad? Who was real, who could he trust? He was thrown into a whirlwind of drama with a bunch of emotional basketcases. It was tough for him, and for us, because we had no idea what to say to him, or how to help. But...in time, we learned. He opened up, started asking more questions, getting more involved, and in the end, learned who he could trust, and who he could depend on in times of need. So… I may not know you as well as he does, but I trust him with my life. One day, you’ll learn who you can trust, too. Hopefully, I’ll be on that list.” You stand back, and stretch your arms out. “Wanna go?” Pointing to the bag, out of breath, placing both hands on the side, you wait for him to start his routine. 

“I trust you…I think.” He stands staring past you, as if he’s having a conversation with the wall. 

“Well...that’s good, because I trust you, too. That’s a good start for us.” 

He starts to lightly hit the bag. He knows full well he could knock it off the hook if he wanted, but he jabs with little pressure so as not to hurt you. 

“I...um…” He stumbles over his words, unable to keep his thoughts together. This seems to irritate him a little, so the intensity of his hits increase. 

“Take your time, deep breaths. We don’t have to talk anymore.” You press a little harder against the bag, steadying yourself as he speeds up his throws. “There you go, Buck. Don’t hold back.” 

His fists squeeze shut, the muscles in his arms ripple and bulge, and the ferocity of his attack continues. You feel better about him, the relief in your chest taking over as he wails on the bag, letting go of some much needed anger and emotional strife. Looking up into his eyes, you see a look of panic and stress, his arm fully extending back. His grits his teeth, and swings forward. You knew what was coming, You knew the look, as you had often seen it on Steve’s face before. Leaping to the side, you stand out of the way, marveling at the sheer force of his strike. The bag swings from the hook, sand covering the floor, the sound making you both flinch when it slams its body against the ground.

“Feel better?” You smirk a little when he nods yes. “Wanna go again?” Another head shake. “Alright… but you gotta lift the bag.” 

The clinging of the chains ring out through the gym. Grabbing a hold of the bag, you halt its swinging, motioning for him to start again. His rhythm is smoother this time, more focused. You count out his hits in your head, keeping focused on his form and his follow through. You slow your count when you notice his form dropping, and his hands loosening. He squints and looks off into the distance again. He wants to say something, share a thought with you, but he can’t seem to find the words to get it out. 

“I talked about you in therapy this week.” 

You stand a little more upright, surprised by his complete honesty, and that he was willing to openly share it with you. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. I told her about the notebook…she thinks it’s a good idea, that I should keep doing it. She thinks it’s good for the times I can’t use my words, or get my thoughts in check. I didn’t tell her about my journals yet. I kind of wanted to keep those private, but she mentioned starting one.”

“That’s good. Sounds like you’re on the right track.”

“I guess.” He returns to his previous stance, and starts to throw his fist back into the bag.

“So, how do you feel about the notebook? If you feel like it’s helping, I can keep doing it. If you want me to stop, we can…”

“No, please. Don’t stop. It’s been really helpful, actually. Steve said he’s noticed a difference, too...so.”

“Okay. So, we’ll keep using it, and if you get bored of it, or you find it’s not helping, we’ll stop.” 

“She also mentioned that maybe…” His brows furrowed in concentration, and you could tell this was going to be big. You tap on the bag a few times to grab his attention, telling him to keep punching. Sometimes it’s easier to get your thoughts out when your body is focused on something else. 

“She said that maybe, um...she mentioned a ‘safe person,’ um…” 

You listened carefully as he spoke, reminding him to keep hitting every few sentences when he became distracted.

“I guess she wants me to find someone that I can go to, if I have questions or something? Someone that I can vent to I guess...if things get to be to much to handle.” 

“Yeah, we all had one of those. Clint was mine.” 

“Did it help?” 

“A lot actually. Knowing someone was there to listen, and not judge you was nice actually.” 

He steps back from the bag and hands you gloves. You correct your stance, and begin your routine. 

“What do they do exactly?” 

“Well, for me….Clint just listened. We would go out to eat, or walk outside, and he would just listen to me speak about whatever was on my mind, whatever I was feeling that day. If I was happy, he would encourage it. If I was frustrated, he would try to help me work through my problem.” You step back and kick a few times. “When I was angry…he would bring down here, and let me blow off steam. He would talk me down, and try to make me see things in a more positive light, or look at it from another perspective. He would basically hear me out, then have me describe the bad things I was dealing with, then ask me how I would make them better.” 

Bucky takes in every word you speak as if you were a teacher, and he was a student that should be taking notes. 

“I think it would be great for you. Someone to do all those things, and teach you about the new things out there. It would definitely help.” 

“Yeah, she said it may help me with my nightmares, too.”

“Oh for sure. Mine weren’t nearly as bad after I spent time with Clint. When there’s not a lot of stuff smoking up your mind, your brain has a chance to breathe.” You strike the bag a few more times, silently, letting him consider the therapist words.

“So, did you have someone in mind?” You stop and study his face, waiting to see if he had thought that far ahead yet. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He tries again, but gets interrupted as Steve opens the door calling out for him. 

“Hey, Steve. What’s up?” You offer a smile and he grabs your shoulder. 

“You guys hungry? Sam made lunch?” Steve stands uneasily next to you, the feeling that he was interrupting something creeping over him. 

“I'm always hungry. Buck, you want to eat?” You start to remove your gloves, but he looks hesitant. 

“Um. Sure. I could eat.” You knew he didn’t want to go, Steve knew it to, so when he followed behind you guys to the door, you knew one of you had to intervene.

“I’m going to go shower first, so you guys want to grab whatever is up there, and we can go out on the patio and get some air? It’s quiet, and it’s a nice day outside today.”

You both could see the release of breath from Bucky and you knew that was the only plan that would work. 

“That sounds good actually. Sun and sandwiches. Buck, how bout it?” Steve looks over as you enter the elevator and head back upstairs.

“I’m okay with that.”

 

———  
You decide to meet them both on the patio after your shower. Steve had grabbed food and drinks from the kitchen while you and Bucky cleaned up. 

As you get dressed, you think back to your gym time with Bucky. You wished that he could see the small improvements that he was making, and hoped that your conversation with him was the small beginning of a breakthrough. Throwing on a tank top and some jean shorts, you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before leaving. Just as you turn the water off, the sound of your door being moved makes you turn back. Peering around the corner, you look over to the floor and squint when you see Bucky’s notebook, and pencil static on the floor. 

Bending down, you see that the pages were flipped open, and a new note had been scrolled.

B-Do you think you can be my safe person?

You silently gasp with the feeling of pride. How hard was it for him to write that note, to put himself out there, to ask for help? To need someone to lean on, to support him in life. There was no hesitation when you checked the box. 

-☑️ Yes. 

You slid it back under the door, acknowledging the fact that he was probably gone already, and you would be picking it up in a minute anyway. Much to your surprise, you hear a small shuffle from outside, and a sigh of relief. He was out there. Waiting. Holding his breath in hopes that you wouldn’t turn him down, break his spirit. He needed you, and in a way, you needed him, too.

Opening the door, you slowly step out, looking down to where Bucky sat. Legs bent, arms hanging over. His hair still slightly damp from the shower with the beginning of a five o’clock shadow. Crouching down next to him, you lean up against the wall, your head rolling towards his. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”


	3. Mark Yes Or No

“He asked you to be his safety?” Steve walks next to you, with a slight expression of shock and confusion. 

“Yup.”

“Huh.” He stops to hold the door open for you, walking you into the conference room.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I just figured he would ask me.” Steve pours you both a water while you stand next the table for Fury to arrive.

“Me too. I was just as surprised. We did have a good conversation at the gym that day before you showed up. Maybe he feels more comfortable now. With me...he’s new. I don’t really know how he used to be, ya know? Where as with you, it’s probably harder for him because you know the other Bucky, and he has to try to live up to that guy.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“Plus, I don’t get that teary eyed ‘I miss my best friend’ look when he can’t remember shit from the forties.” Smirking, talking a drink, you pop your eyebrows at him. 

“I don’t...”

“Yes, you do. I barely remember stuff from last week, and you expect him to remember shit from 70 years before his brain was placed in a blender. Come on, Rogers, you’re better than that.”

Steve eases into his chair, and you join him across the table.

“I just want to help him.” 

“No, you just want to fix him, and he doesn’t need that. He needs to learn how to deal with who he is now. Who is the new Bucky? He needs to figure out what makes him...him. He isn’t James anymore, he isn’t ‘your’ Bucky. He’s a combo of both old and new, and he has to learn how to sort out which things are good and bad. It’s not your job to do it for him. It’s your job to support him, and to be there for him on that journey, and that’s it. It’s going to suck, Steve. I know it’s killing you, and you’re stupid if you don’t think it’s three times as hard for him. I mean, how easy do you think it is to look into the eyes of your best friend, your brother damn near, and see the look of sadness, desperation, and pity. He can’t be the Bucky you once knew…and if you can’t see that, then you’re the one who’s changed, not him.” 

Steve taps his finger against the table as he listens to your speech. You were right. You usually were, but sometimes, it was hard for him to admit it.

“He’s going to be okay though. I know he will. He’s strong, he always has been.” 

“That he is…but sometimes, even the strongest have to break. He’ll never grow if he doesn’t learn from his weaknesses. He needs to let it out before he can let it go. If he can open up, and let people in, let people help, he’ll make it. If he doesn’t, he might not truly heal. He is strong, Steve, no doubt about it...but sometimes, you need to show weakness in order to heal.”

“He chose well, ya know?” Steve twists his water glass on the table. 

“That remains to be seen.” 

“Good evening.” The deep sounds of Fury’s voice greets you, and immediately your bodies stiffen with attention. “Sorry for the late night chat, but some things came up, and they needed to handled.” 

“Everything okay?” Steve quickly changes into “Cap mode,” hoping that he won’t be needed for duty tonight.

“It is, but that’s not why we’re here now is it?”

“Why are we here, sir?” You knew damn well why you were here. He’s checking up on things with Bucky. He hated when you played dumb with him, but he let you get away with it because you were one of his favorites.

“Status report on Mr. Barnes. How's he coming along? Do I need to keep security tight on him still, or are we thinking he’s made the transition?”

You raise your brows at Steve, letting him take the reins on this one. 

“Per his therapist, he’s making big strides. His nightmares have decreased, he’s responding to positive training routines, he…”

“Is he planning on trying to take any of us out again anytime soon?” 

You try to hide it, but a small smirk graces your face.

“Did I say something funny, Mrs. Y/L/N?” He leans toward you, his body a force to be reckoned with. 

“No, sir. Just flashing back to that day, trying to figure out how the hell we all made it out of there alive.” 

He taps his fingers against the table, studying your face. 

“I heard you’re his person.” He lifts his brow, staring you down. So much for keeping his personal life private. Of course he knew he had chosen you. He knows everything.

“That’s the rumor.” 

“I don’t think I need to tell you to be careful, but I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t trust him. If I get wind that anything goes South, or a hint that Winter Is back, I will do everything in my power to detain him. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You both respond in unison.

“Out of respect for you, Cap, I’ll do my best not to kill him.”

“He won’t come back.” Steve states firmly.

“You better hope not.” Fury points his finger in Steve’s direction.

“I’ll take full responsibility for his actions.”

“Damn right you will.” 

Sighing out in annoyance, you interrupt when you see the conversation going nowhere.

“He’s an adult, and if something happens, he can take responsibility himself. He’s not a child, we aren’t babysitting him.” Fury leans back and glares at you, not in anger, just surprised that you have never once shown any fear when you speak to him, and you rarely hold back when in front of him.

“Why don’t you give us a few minutes, Cap.” You glance at Steve, begging him with your eyes not to leave you, but you know it’s out of his control. As you watch Steve leave, you cringe as you turn to look back, already aware that Fury had never once looked away from you.

“How is he really...and don’t sugarcoat that shit. I’m cranky today.”

“He’s actually not lying, and you know I don’t sugarcoat. I tell the truth to a fault. It's why you hate, and love me.” 

“Mmmm. I never once said I hated you...but I do question why I put up with your attitude.” 

“I’m loyal as hell for one...and two, I’m not afraid to tell you when you’re being dramatic.”

The silence is the room was deafening. 

“Why’d he pick you?”

“We’ve got a good thing going right now. Open communication, a routine if you will. It’s working, and I’m actually happy he picked me. I trust him.”

You’re met with a delirious chuckle, as he throws himself back into his chair. 

“You don’t trust anyone.” 

“I trust you.” You cross your arms, daring him to challenge you.

“You shouldn’t. I don’t trust you.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve never given you a reason not to, and you’ve never done me wrong. Tell me I’m lying.” 

“Hmpf.” He swings his chair ever sl slightly back and forth. “You think Winter will make an appearance?” 

“Nah. Not willingly at least. If it happens, it’ll be from their hands, not his. He wants nothing to do with it. He just wants his life back, or what’s left of it at least.”

“Well, let’s hope he left all that shit behind him, for his sake.” He waves you off, and you nod in gratitude. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if he should decide to visit again.”

The thought of him going after Bucky made your heart cringe. You knew he meant it, too. He wouldn't hesitate to kill him after what he had done to us. Convincing Bucky to see that he was good would be difficult, but proving to Fury that he was still present, would be damn near impossible. 

“You’re going on a mission tomorrow.” He throws a file your way, and you grab it as it slides to a stop in front of you. “One night, maybe, two. Strictly recon. No contact. You leave tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

An uneasy feeling crept in to your stomach as you walked through the hallways to your room. You were making headway with Bucky, and now you were leaving him for a night or two. He would be fine. He had Steve, and that would be enough. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear a deep voice call out to you. 

“Was it about him?” Steve leans against the wall next to your door, curious as to what Fury has to say. 

“Of course.” Opening the door, you wave him in. He ducks into the room, dropping himself into the bed.

“He doesn’t like him.”

“No, he does not.” You throw down the files you had been given from Fury.

“Mission?” 

“Recon only. Two nights, tops.” Sitting in the chair at your desk, you begin to nervously tap your fingers.

“Worried? Big target?” He nods towards the files, almost asking to see them. 

“No, I mean yes, big guy, but I’m not worried about him.”

“Bucky?” With furrowed brows, you sigh, leaning forward with concern.

“I shouldn’t leave, right? I mean, I have to, it’s not an option.” Sitting back up you look towards the ceiling, trying to read it for answers. “I’m just being stupid, he’ll be fine. You’re going to be here to make sure he’s good, right?” 

“He’s going to be fine. He’s sleeping better, he’s talking more, he’s…” Steve waves his hands, frustrated that he can’t come up with more reasons as to why he’s better, ultimately throwing his body back on to your bed. He rubs his hands down his face, and you know he’s just as scared for his best friend.

“You want to talk about it?” You make your way to the bed, and lay back with him.

“What if he’s right?” 

“He’s not.” 

“But what if…”

“The world is full of what ifs, Steve. What if he turns, what if he panics, what if you had never found him?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply.

“I can’t…”

“You won’t. He’s not going back. It took them over twenty years to break him, Steve, and that’s not even counting all the times they wiped him for the other fifty, and he still left them. He left them. They didn’t release him, retire him, put him out to pasture. He got away. He left, on his own, because he’s still him. He’s not Winter, he never was. He’s Bucky. Winter was strong, smart even, I’ll give you that..but not as strong as Bucky. If Bucky wanted him to come back he would, but he knows that’s not what he’s about. I’m not worried.”

“So why don’t you want to leave him?”

Turning your head towards him, you look deep into his eyes before answering. 

“Because...what if?” You smile sarcastically, because you were in the same boat as Steve. 

 

Packing up your gear was mentally draining for you. Normally, it seemed so simple. Gather the essentials, guns, knives, first aid kit. Check your leads, your emergency contacts, and head out. Not today though. Today was filled with anxious thoughts about leaving Bucky behind. What if he panics, has no one to talk to, has knock down nightmares. Okay, so it happens. Steve will be there handle it, and life will go on as normal. Wait. What if Steve gets pulled for a mission, too? 

“Well, fuck me. I didn’t think about that little gem.” Just when you’re about to sink into a pit of blackness, a sound you know well pulls you back out. 

B-Are you nervous? 

*He has no idea.*

-Yes and no.

B-How long?

-One night. Maybe two. 

B-I’ll be okay. 

-I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to worry. 

B-You sound like Steve.

-How dare you come to my threshold and insult me like that...

-I hope you’re smiling. It’s okay if you are because I can’t see you. 

B-I guess you’ll never know.

-You know I’m going to check on you, right?

B-Is that allowed?

-Try to stop me. 

B-Is this Steve’s door? 

-I’m coming out in five seconds…

You smile at the sound of feet walking down the hall, and a door shutting. 

“He’s gonna be fine.”

Y: Bucky just told me that I sound like you  
S: Were you reprimanding him?  
Y: Breaking rules.  
S: …  
S: Did he make a joke?  
Y: I think…?  
S: Huh…  
Y: Yeah…  
S: Do I need to he concerned that you’re breaking rules?  
Y: I gotta go  
S: Y/N?  
S: Sigh…

A few hour pass as you wrap up your mission plans.

I’m going to be heading out pretty early in the morning. 

Bucky sits on the floor behind the door. You can tell he’s nervous, as the shadow under the door moves back and forth in one fluid motion. He must be rocking. The note has yet to come back.

“I’m going to slip something under your door. It’s a comm device, just for you and I. No one else can hear us if we talk on it. I’m going to keep mine on when I’m gone. If you need me, I don’t care what time it is, you call me.” 

No answer. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can. Steve will be here if you need him.”

You know he wants to say something, but the words won’t surface.

“Good night, Buck.”

You stand to go, glancing up at Steve, who has witnessed your interaction from afar. The look you share is one of concern, one of heartbreak. He needs to handle this on his own, you both realize that, which makes not being able to help even more agonizing for the both of you.

You give a quick wave, and walk into your room. Closing the door behind you, you lean up against it, dropping your head back. 

“Shit.”

It’s 3am when you’re awoken by the sound of scratching against your floor. You sleepily walk across the room, bending down, almost falling head first into the door due to your current state of grogginess. 

B-Be careful.

-Always

The sound of his door shutting almost breaks you, but you’re thankful for the small steps in the right direction. Laying down, you ponder all of the horrible scenarios of things that can, and probably will go wrong while you’re gone. 

“Friday, turn on Bucky's Stars.”


	4. Mark Yes Or No

The dark, damp crappy hotel room was less than to be desired. It smelled of mothballs and mildew, and the distinct smell of iron came wafting through the air each time the ac unit kicked on. Someone had been killed here, and whoever did it clearly didn’t know how to clean up after themselves. 

“It’s one night. Let’s get a few pictures, get some audio, and go home. One night.” 

Four hours had come and gone with no signs of your mark. Frustration grew from within, as did the nausea from the smells around you. Your stomach growled from hunger, but you were in to good of a position to give up, so you waited just a bit longer in case your guy should show up. 

As the headaches and dizziness from your hypoglycemia start to take hold, you reluctantly decided to leave your binoculars and window behind, gently treading across the floor to the suitcase of food you had packed. Opening the bags, you pull out a sandwich and a drink, and head back to your post behind the blinds. As you lift the sandwich from the bag, a small note falls from inside.

B-Eat to stay alert. It will help if you start to get tired.

Bucky. You couldn’t be there to help him, so he made it so he could be there with to help you.

You flip the top to your drink, to find another small note.

B-There is a touch of an energy shot in here. Just enough to keep you awake, not enough to make you jittery. Small sips, don’t chug. 

You wonder what it is he’s doing right now. It’s only twelve am, his night of terrors should be starting soon. Hopefully, Steve has it under control, and can keep him level headed until your return. 

“Come on, come on. Where are you, man?” As if on cue, a black suv pulls into the hotel parking lot. Two more follow, parking on either side of the mark. Two large, dumb looking agents get out of each car, and within minutes, your target exits his. 

“Well hello there, sweetheart. Better late than never I suppose.”

The sound of the camera shutter echos quietly through the room. You get in your shots, forwarding them to Shield, an extra few here and there to Fury himself. 

You hide behind the blinds as the men take stock of their surroundings, scanning the building for anyone who could be watching. 

“Just keep doing what you're doing boys. That’s right, go on in, and have your little meeting. Don’t mind me.” 

You slide your feet softly to the desk, where you begin to record audio and video feed of the meeting. Fury is going to love this.

You take a small drink and put your feet up on the desk. The late hour and lack of sleep start to take over. Your eyes start to sink, but are pulled back up by a familiar voice.

“Are you awake?” You swear it can’t be real, but your finger flies to your ear, cranking the volume just to be sure.

“Hello?” You whisper out, to noone in particular.

“Hey.” There’s your boy. 

“Rough night?” 

“It hasn’t started yet.” He hates going to sleep. He knows it will end in sweat and tears, sore muscles and bruises, more often than not, blood too. He would rather stay awake and be delirious in the morning, than suffer through the torture of each episode every other night.

“Steve awake?” 

“Don’t know. Probably not.”

“Hmmm. You gonna try to sleep tonight?” You hope the answer is yes, but to be honest, if he stayed up with you, it would only help both of you in the end.

The sound of silence tells you the answer is most likely no.

“My guy showed up. Getting some good audio, so hopefully I can come home tomorrow.”

“You being careful?” The thought of him worrying warms your somewhat cold heart.

“Of course. I’m not gonna lie though, I’d rather be home in bed.”

“Maybe we can talk for a bit?”

“Sure. What’s on your mind?” You’re a bit nervous when you’re met with a minute of silence, so you know he’s got something big. You don’t interrupt, and you don’t force him to speak. You just wait until he’s ready.

“That day...the day I found Steve. The day I...I hurt you.” 

*Oh shit.*

“You didn’t hurt me.” You knew this would come up one day, but you were hoping it would be much later on.

“I saw something today. I was in medical and…”

“Why were you in medical, are you hurt?” You sit up quickly, nervous as to how he had hurt himself, or worse, who may have hurt him.

“I was just getting a checkup. I’m fine.” He hesitates, deciding how much he should tell you. “I saw your records, your scans.” 

You had been checked out by Bruce and Helen before heading out. They always did a quick check up on everyone before they left, making sure that there weren't any issues with them fighting, making sure all old wounds were healed. He must have gone in right after you had left.

“Bucky…”

“I broke your ribs. Your face was bruised.” A few beats of silence passed as he tried to figure out why you had never mentioned it. “You said you weren’t scared of me. How can you not be after what I did to you?”

“You didn’t do anything to me, Buck. You’ve never hurt me.”

“But…”

“Winter hurt me. Hydra hurt me...but not Bucky.”

“How bad was it? How bad did I...?”

“I’ve had much worse, he just caught me at a good angle, that’s all.” You lied. It was bad. One of your broken ribs had punctured your lung, and honestly if Sam hadn’t have gotten to you in time, you probably would have died.

“‘Im so sor…”

“No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say you’re sorry to me. I don’t ever want to hear you take the blame, or apologize for something that they made him do. That is their guilt, their blame, and you don’t have the responsibility, or the right to claim it. That is their karma, not yours. That’s on them, Bucky.”

“But...I did it.” 

“No...you didn’t...but you did stop it.” 

He attempts to speak again but stops, unsure of how to respond to your last statement.

“You are so much stronger than you think you are. I wish you could see that.” You rub your face in frustration, because the thought of what you are about to do goes against everything you promised you would never do to him.

“Do you think you would be here right now if you, Bucky, didn’t want to be?” 

You snicker to yourself as you think of how mad Hydra was every time he woke up and they had to wipe him again. How they had to keep arguing with him every time he asked who Steve was, or how they had to beat him into submission everytime he questioned when something was wrong.

“Do you think you made it easy on them? I’ve seen your records too, you know. I’ve talked to some of the agents involved in your most recent escapades around town. Bucky...they hated you.” You let that sink in for a moment. “Do you know why they had to keep wiping Winter? It’s because of you. Bucky was a pain in their ass. No matter how hard they tried, you would not go away. They were never mean enough, never hard enough, never strong enough. You always came back, you always said no. You fought them, for like seventy years, Buck. Seventy years!” You whisper yell into the room. “So are you trying to tell me, that if Bucky was there that day on the bridge, that you would have hurt me, or any of us? No way, Buck.”

“But you guys still got hurt.”

“Can I ask you something?” You knew it was risk, but it was one that you were willing to take to prove the point that he desperately needed to hear. You wait for his go ahead. “Do you remember your mission that day?”

A sigh travels through the comms, and you know he’s struggling.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to say it. I know it’s hard. I remember…”

“To kill Steve.” There it is. 

“To kill Steve. No matter what, right? What was to happen if someone were to get in the way of that mission?”

“I kill them too.” 

“Yet here we are, at two in the morning, having this conversation with each other, and clearly I’m not dead. Why do you think that is?” 

“I…I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.” A sudden ruckus on the audio feed makes you jump to attention. “Hold that thought. Something's up.” You watch as a small argument breaks out between the agent and his meeting partner. You draw your weapons as you watch, ready to defend if needed, or run if the situation calls for it. The agents cool themselves, weapons are returned, and they peacefully come to an agreement of terms.

“Now. Where were we?” You ask, hoping he was still on the line.

“You we’re trying to convince us both that I’m a good person.”

“I’m not the one who needs convincing. I already know you are. So...the question remains, why am I not dead?”

“You weren’t my mission.” 

“Sure I was, not directly, but I got in your way, so why didn’t you finish the job?”

“Maybe I didn’t think you were a threat.” 

“That wasn’t your decision to make. I was there remember? You were a beast that day. They told you to kill whoever was in the way of you and Steve, but you decided otherwise. What pulled you out that day?”

You wait for him to think about that moment, or at least what he can remember feeling. What happened on the bridge? What happened after he hurt you, shot Nat, fought with Steve. 

“I think…I think I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“The look in your eyes said differently. I remember it like it was yesterday. Trust me, you wanted to hurt people that day.”

“I kept getting distracted. I was mad… you guys wouldn’t let me finish my mission.” 

“That doesn’t seem very ‘Wintery’ of you. Winter’s job was to annihilate, no distractions, no emotions.”

“I remember…something was off.” 

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I can’t describe it. I needed to finish my mission, but I wasn’t...in it.”

“Do you think you remembered him before he called out to you?”

“Maybe. They used to get mad when I asked who he was. They told me...he didn’t matter. It was an order to follow, and I wasn’t to question it.”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened when he called your name?” 

“I…I knew him somehow. Part of me wanted to kill him...but the other part.”

“Yeah, that other part. What happened on the Helicarrier, Buck? Why did you save him?”

You remember seeing them above you. The back and forth of it all. One hit, two hits, the sound of the gunshots. Even from the ground, you could see Steve falter, just for a second. You stood below on the deck, watching Steve get destroyed, begging for him to get up. Why wasn’t he fighting back? Was he dead already, and Bucky was just letting go of years of anger, or just making sure the job was finished once and for all. Then, you watched as he fell. Lifeless, like an angel falling from heaven, the rays of sun surround him, the splash of the water snapping you back into reality. 

“I...I didn’t save him.” 

He did. You knew he did. Not twenty seconds after the glass shattered, Bucky free dove from the carrier, aiming his body like a bullet for Steve. You ran towards them. Out of breath, wheezing from the punctured lung. Dropping to the ground from exhaustion, you hide in the bushes, covered by trees. Bucky emerges, pulling Steve by the chest, keeping both of them afloat. 

“You sure? Cause I didn’t do it. I know Sam didn’t, he was busy jumping out of a building, and Nat was busy catching him. You were the only one there, Buck.”

“I...I couldn’t just let him die. Couldn’t let him drown. I knew him. He knew me.”

“Bucky saved him, just like Bucky saved you. Do you remember what happened after that?” 

“I ran.” 

“Yeah, you did. You got away. You took back control of your life. You could have gone on a spree, and destroyed us all...but instead, you took the high road, and saved yourself.” 

“I didn’t want to be him anymore. I didn’t want to do those things.” 

“Because you’re a good person, Bucky. Which is what I’ve been telling you all along.”

“I want to get better.” 

“You already are.” The silence in the room is deafening. You know he’s there, so you stay on the line, waiting for his thoughts on the matter. Did he finally get it? Did he finally see what you and Steve had been seeing all along? 

“Thank you for giving me a chance.” 

“Thank you for not giving up on yourself. Hey. At the risk of sounding really cheesy…I’m proud of you right now. I’m really happy you called. This was a big conversation for you to have. Hopefully you got some shit of your chest, and it’ll clear your mind a bit.” 

“I actually feel...tired. Like I could sleep now.”

“You should try. If you want, you can go into my room. Hideout, turn on the stars. I put some new music on a playlist for you. Friday will turn it on if you ask her to play it.”

“I’m already in your room. I’ve been here since you left. I...like it in here. It’s...calming.”

The thought of him trying to be near you warms your heart. If a quiet room with distractions is enough to make him happy, you’ll gladly let him stay for as long as he likes.

“Good. I’m glad you’re there. Hold on.” You watch as the group of agents head back outside. You count each one making sure no one gets left behind. No surprises, no attacks tonight. Get home, be safe. The man in the hotel room gathers up his things, and follows shortly behind. A successful mission. Time to pack up, wait for your ride, extraction in three hours.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Looks like I’m done here. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“I’ll keep the stars on for you.”


	5. Mark Yes Or No

“I’m so tired.”

“I know, Buck. I know.” Whispering quietly as you run your hands over his forehead and through his hair. You would give anything for him to just sleep for one night. Just one, peaceful, full night of sleep so his body could recover…heal. 

“It won’t stop. It never stops. It so loud, all the time.” Even with his eyes closed, eyelids pressed hard together, you could still see his eyes frantically moving beneath them.

“What do you hear?”

“Them. Their voices, their demands.” 

Hydra pieces of shit, you think to yourself

“What else?”

“Screaming. Pleading, begging.” 

The screams of his victims. Begging him for mercy.

“What makes it stop?” You ask, rubbing your finger up and down the spot in front of his ear, tucking his hair behind it.

“You do.” He answers as he nudges his head deeper into your leg. “You make them quieter. You and Steve make them whisper. They don’t scream when you’re near.”

“That’s good, right?” He nods his head up and down in your lap. 

“How about we keep them away tonight? Let’s close the door, let’s lock it. I’ll stand guard and keep you safe, but you hold the key tonight. The only way they that they’re going to get in is by you opening the door. Don’t open it for them, Buck. They don’t control your body anymore, and they don’t control you. You’re in charge of your own mind. Don’t give them any power. They don’t deserve it...they don’t deserve you.” 

“If I stay, will you talk to me? Distract me? Keep me awake?” He almost begs as he asks.

“How about I talk to you until you fall asleep? You need to get some rest, Buck. Your body desperately needs it. I’ll stay right here, and make sure no one gets to you.” 

He positions his head in your lap, and you pull his arm over you when he’s unsure as to where to place it. He adjusts to your movements while you settle in and get comfortable, making yourself ready for the long night ahead of you. 

“What do you want to talk about tonight?” You’re met with silence as he takes a minute to think of a distraction. As you wait, you watch him as he lifts his hand, rubbing his finger along a faint of a long scar that runs along your arm, almost fixated on the pattern of it.

“Tell me something about you.” A soft laugh leaves your lips as you consider all of the things you could possibly share with him about your past. 

“I thought you wanted to sleep tonight?” He looks up at you with a look of annoyance, but with a need for a conversation that didn’t refer to his own history for once.

“I feel like I don’t know anything about you.” 

It’s true. You liked it better that way. He had his own issues to deal with, and he didn’t need to know, or deal yours, too. You didn’t want to share with him that Hydra had killed your family. How Hydra had used you for a play thing under the false cover of Shield. How you had thought all along that you had been working for the good guys for once, until Fury opened your eyes. Introduced you to Nat. Man, did you guys have a lot in common. You didn’t want to share that they were able to kidnap you, and torture you for switching sides for over a year, as you patiently waiting for Steve to come and get you. You had your own night terrors to deal with. You didn’t need him to carry the weight of what they did to both of you. He wasn’t strong enough for that yet. That’s why you had to be. 

“How about I tell you some funny stories instead?”

“How about you stop avoiding the question?” He mumbles as he taps your arm.

“How about we talk about that another time? Please. Believe me, it won’t help you sleep tonight. I promise.”

“You’ll tell me one day?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you one day.” You take a deep breath, letting the thoughts of the past out once again before speaking.

“Did I ever tell you the story about the time Steve jumped out of a plane and miscalculated how far up he was?”

“No. What happened?”

“We had to send Tony after him. He almost hit the deck of a ship.” Shaking your head, you remember how hard you chewed him out that night after you had come home from the mission. 

**“How stupid can you be, Rogers! Do you have any idea how high up we were! You would have died. There is no amount of serum that could have brought you back from that!” 

“I would have landed right here I needed to be!”

“Yes, you would have...and I would have been scooping up your organs up with a shovel!” **

 

“No wait, I have a better one! Let me tell you about the one time he tried to run through a wall, but didn’t know that Coulson had replaced it with a shit ton of steel after Hydra had blasted through it a few weeks before. He ran full steam at this thing expecting it to give…when he hit the floor…” 

Bucky’s head begins to bounce in your lap, forcing him to sit up, watching as you had fallen over onto the bed, crying from the memory of him laying on the ground, moaning. You and Sam had of course been right there for it, and he has yet to live it down. When he’s about to do something stupid, Tony always has Friday play “Hero,” which is usually followed up by most of you saluting him because you know there’s probably a good chance he’s going to die. 

Clearing your throat, you wave it off, sit up, and tap your thighs, asking him to come back. 

“Does he always do dumb stuff like that?” Settling back into your legs, he lets out a deep breath when his skin touches yours.

You wanted to say no. 

“Yes. He jumps out of windows, planes with no parachute, cars, buildings, you name it. Did he do stupid stuff when he was younger too?”

He wanted to say no.

“Yes. He got in a lot of fights. I remember…he was busted up a lot. I remember looking down alleys everywhere I went. I think...I had people that worked at the places that we used to go to watch over him. The girls at the diner, our neighbor who worked at the candy store, a couple moms in the neighborhood.” He squinted and twisted his head a little, as he tried to search through his memories, like searching for a single passage in a large novel.

“Mmmm, that sound about right.” You begin to run your fingers through his hair again, as he yawns. “You feeling better?”

“I always feel better in here.”

“You know you’re welcome in here anytime you need to get away, whether I’m here or not. If it helps you, I’m all about it.”

“Can I tell you something?” He rolls over onto his back, and stares at your ceiling, waiting for your response.

“Of course.” His mouth opens, but only small grunts and noises can be heard, until finally his voice is strong enough to break through.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“That they’ll come for me. That it’s just a matter of time before they decide they want me back.” You can’t help the sadness that reaches your lips.

“Is that why you won’t go to sleep?” He closes his eyes and thinks about all the ways that they could hurt him, hurt Steve, hurt you. They would do anything to get to him.

“All it takes is one second of me being...off.”

“You can’t think like that.” You touch his chin gently turning his head towards you. “Look at me. You are not alone anymore. This isn’t you in Bucharest on your own, fending for yourself. You’re here with all of us, and Shield backing you up. Do you think for a second that we wouldn't protect you? Do you think that if Hydra came bursting in here right now, that Steve and I wouldn’t rain down hellfire on them to save you?”

“I wouldn’t ask…”

“You wouldn’t need to.” 

He lets out a small shaky breath, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you take care of me?” 

A small smile graces your lips, but he never sees it. 

*I’ll tell you one day, but not today *

“I’ve done such horrible things. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve...you.”

“You deserve more than anyone, Buck. For everything you went through and more. If anyone should have a life filled with happiness and love. It’s you.”

“You don’t honestly believe that do you?” 

“I do. One day, I’ll have you believing it, too.”

He stares off into the distance, fighting against the emotions ripping through to the surface, fighting to speak and to deny any reason for you to believe that’s he worth all this. 

You give a quick few taps to his forehead to bring him back to you. 

“Are you staying the night?” 

“Is that okay?” He speaks to the ceiling for fear that he’ll start to cry if he looks up at you.

“Yeah, of course.” You start to shift your pillows around, and pull at the blankets. “Under or over?”

“Umm.” You roll your eyes towards him, not wanting to forcing him into something he doesn’t want, but knowing exactly what he needs.

“If you make this weird I’m gonna get pissed.”

“If I have a…” You knew where this was going, and you weren’t going to let him go there tonight.

“If you have a nightmare, I’ll wake you up. If you hit me during it, I’ll hit you back. If you sleep through the night...great, problem solved.”

Bucky takes a quick look around the bed and decides he’ll give it a try. If there’s a chance that he’ll actually get some sleep, he’s all for it. 

“Under.” He quietly says, and you lift the covers up for him to get it. 

“Get comfortable. And we’ll talk some more.” 

He shifts under the blankets, and goes to lay on his side. He was much bigger than you, so you knew it would be hard to spoon him, and you didn’t think he would be comfortable with you in his arms, so you did the next best thing. Propping the pillows slightly up, you shift your body down, and open up your arm to him. He hesitates for a moment, but slowly sinks down into your chest. You pull the covers up over him, tucking them under his arm. You knew he ran hot, and the last thing you wanted was to be stuck under a furnace having a panic attack should something happen later. You take a deep breath and begin to rub his head again.

“Good?”

“Yeah, good.” Only he wasn’t.

He wanted to shift, he wanted to move. He felt so exposed, his arm over the covers on display, reminding him that he shouldn’t be touching you in this way. The voice inside of him telling him to switch sides, lay on the floor, go back to his room where he belonged, alone and secluded in the dark. 

Your body, however, told him differently. Your body was calm, still, relaxed.

He had tried to tuck in his metal arm deep into his side, and you could tell he wasn’t comfortable. He opened his mouth to argue when you lifted it, draping it over your waist once again. He thinks you’re insane. That at some point, you’ll realize what you’re doing, and your body will finally come to reject him, just like everyone one else has. Yet, it never does. It become more pliant. It takes him in, settles around him, shows no fear as your heartbeat confirms it to be true. As he rests his head on your chest, the sound of your heart calms him, it’s slow steady beat brings his heart rate down almost telling him it was okay to breathe, okay to stop. Okay to give in to this, even if it is just one time. 

He lets out a long yawn, his eyelids heavy, fighting to stay away. He doesn’t want to sleep. He doesn’t want to forget this feeling, this moment, but it becomes more difficult as the sound of your heart hypnotizes him with each beat.

“Tell me more about the dumb things that my best friend did while I was gone.”

“Oh, Bucky...there will never be enough nights for that.” 

The next morning...

“Have you seen Bucky today?” Steve pours himself a cup of coffee, already having had a full run around the entire city, almost twice.

“Yeah. He’s in my room... sleeping.”

“He’s sleeping?” Steve’s eyebrows lift in surprise and wonder. 

You raise your brows behind your mug of tea and nod a few times. 

“How long has that been going on?” Steve leans against the counter, wondering how you were able to tame the beast. 

“This was the first time.” The toaster dings. You grab your bagel and sleepily walk towards the table.

“How did that come about?” Steve pulls out a chair, sitting across from you as he blows the steam from his cup.

“How it always starts.” 

The night before...

-You want to talk about it? 

You lean into his door, and wait for a sound from inside of the room.

No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to talk about how he felt like some days he was losing his mind. He didn’t want to tell anyone how he was scared to come into his room, fearing they would be there waiting for him. He didn’t want to talk about all the flashbacks he had, dating back from him and Steve in the war, to more recent traumas now. He just wanted quiet. He just wanted to be still. He spent his days and night searching for a stop button, a kill switch, an extinguisher. He would sell his soul for a good cryogenic sleep right now, but even that wasn’t guaranteed to stop his thoughts. 

-Are you hurt?

B-No

-Do you want me to stay here?

No answer. Just the sounds of something being kicked across the room. 

-I’ll be in my room if you need me. It’s always open…

You wait for a second for the paper to slide back out from under the door, but it never returned.

Later that night...

The knocking almost startled you, but part of you knew that it was coming.

“Come in.” The door opens slowly, and carefully. “It’s safe.”


	6. Chapter 6

The explosion rocked the building. Everyone was in full panic grabbing weapons, hiding coworkers, taking up armed stations throughout the rooms. 

“I need everyone on comms now! Spread out. Sam, Northside. Romanoff, East wing. Y/N, West upper level. I’ve got South side. I want status updates as we move, and we need to find Tony and Bruce ASAP. Is everyone clear?”

“Got it, Cap. Taking Northside now.” You can hear Sam running through crowds of people yelling. Coughing here and there as dust sprinkled down through the vents over the crowds.

“Entering wing now. All clear at this time, just runners.” Nat was running, her voice sounding strained as she yelled for people to take cover and gave orders for agents to follow her.

Steve waits patiently for you to check in. When he hears no response from you, he thinks the worst.

“Y/N? Y/N...Location? Y/N!” He bellows into the comms, grunting as he gets shoved back and forth between innocent bystanders running for safety. 

“3rd floor kitchen, heading to hallway.” He can hear your voice strained, your breaths short. He knows your running fast to wherever you’re heading.

“What!” Steve grabs at this ear, trying to hear you around the agents barking orders at each other around him. 

“I need to find Bucky.”

“Y/N! That’s not…”

“You're out of your damn mind if you think I’m leaving him alone right now, Steve!” 

“Damn it. Clint?” Steve calls out hoping he was listening.

“On my way. I’ve got her post.” 

Once you hit the door to the hallway you found yourself sliding almost past it. You grab the doorframe with your hand, spinning into it full speed and begin to run again. You slam to a stop at his door, and begin to pound on it.

“Bucky! Buck, it’s me...let me in!” There’s no answer, but you figured this would happen. 

*Please don’t be gone, please don’t be gone.*

Twisting the door knob you give a hefty push, expecting it to be locked. To your surprise, the door swings open. Tearing in you begin to search frantically for him. The bed is made, no damage can be seen anywhere. Nothing is broken, windows are still shut.

*Okay...they didn’t break in. Bathroom maybe?*

“Bucky?” You peek around the corner, gun drawn, ready to rumble if needed.

“Steve, he’s not in his room!” You hand pressed firmly against your ear.

“Shit. Did you check yours?” He runs through the hallways toward the noisiest area.

“Heading there now!” You jump over his bed, and make a hard turn down the hall.

You pound in the keys on the pad of your door and run in. Frantic at this point to find him, fearing the worst.

“Bucky?” You slam the door shut, and begin to search your room for any signs of movement. 

*What if they took him? What if they take you? What if they find you both?*

As you quickly move around the bed towards your bathroom, you catch a moving figure tucked between the nightstand and your bed, head down, ears covered.

“Bucky!” You drop to your knees and slide towards him, finally taking a breath. Grabbing his face, you force him to acknowledge your presence. “Hey! Hey, it’s just me! I’m here. I got you. I’m going to protect you.” Twisting to your side, you press your comm to contact Steve.

“Steve! I’ve got him.” 

A sigh of relief is heard, and you know that even though he was in full Captain mode right now, Steve was internally sweating bullets. 

“Stay there, keep him safe! I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Copy.” 

You listen as they continue to check in with each other each time a section is cleared. 

“Has anyone found Tony and Bruce yet?” Steve’s voice is demanding. He wants answers.

“I have eyes on Bruce. He’s outside of the lab.” Natasha makes it to him in time, coaxing the beast to stay inside.

“No eyes on Tony, but I do have eyes on the lab. I’m looking at it through the giant hole in the wall that someone created in the room next to it. 

Just as Sam goes to enter the lab through the newly made opening, he hears the quiet moans of a male’s voice. 

“Friday. Scan damage.” The voice is weak and dry. 

“Tony!” Sam climbs over chunks of concrete debris, stepping over wires and glass. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Reactor gone bad. Is everyone okay?” He tries to sit up, but Sam forces him to lay down once more. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Bruce is fine.” He reassures as Tony tries to make his way up to stand. “Stay down, damn it. Nat has him. She’s keeping him calm.” 

Sam helps him adjust his body, leaning him up against a desk. The feel of something warm and wet on his hand grabs his attention. 

“Tony...you’re bleeding. Where are you bleeding from?” 

Sam pulls Tony into his arms and gasps when he spots a thick triangular piece of glass embedded in his lower back.

“Ow.” Tony twists his upper body to scan his wound. “That’s…incredibly inconvenient.”

“Agreed. Cap, I need a medic to the lab now! We have a situation with Tony.”

“Sending one now. Is he alright?”

Tony makes a grabby hand at Sam, asking for his comm.

“I’m good old man. My ego is bruised, but I’m good.”

A large group of agents, followed by Steve and Nat storm into the lab, weapons drawn.

“Oh...I should...that was...my bad.” Tony looks around the room, circling his finger in the air at the alarms and lights flashing. “Friday, cancel Code Red. Shut it down, there has not been a breach. Call off the hounds...and all that.”

“Right away, Mr. Stark.”

“Helen and her team are on the way.” Cap leans down to examine the large laceration. “I can’t pull it out, you’ll bleed to much.”

“I’m good, it’s fine.” Tony pats Steve’s shoulder, smirking at the thought of Steve being this concerned over him. “I could use a drink though.”

“What's happening out there?” Steve perks up at your voice in his ear, jumping up, running out of the room. Before he exits, he turns back yelling to make sure Tony doesn’t argue with the nurses, and that he’ll be back.

“Steve?” 

“Heading your way now. False alarm. Tony blew up the lab.”

“What!” You drop to the ground, leaning up against the bed. Relief washes over you, the anxiety leaving your chest, your breath returning to normal. “Tony blew himself up in the lab. They're not here for us. We’re good. We’re safe.” Tapping Bucky’s arm a few times before dropping it to the floor, you lean your head back onto the blankets, closing your eyes, shaking your head back and forth. “Is Tony dead...because if he’s not, I’m gonna kill him, Steve. I swear...I’m gonna shove his suit, right up his…”

“Easy, Y/N. How’s Buck?”

Rolling your head to the right, you watch as he tries to make himself smaller, becoming one with your furniture in hopes to not be seen. This isn’t like him. The last time agents came for him, he fought back with no hesitation. He was terrified this time. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to fight anymore, even if it meant fighting for his own life. He was done. Emotionally and physically done.

“Things could be better.”

Leaning over you get onto your knees, placing your fingers underneath his chin. When he does finally look at you, his eyes are different. They’re not showing you a look of fear, and it’s not panic. It’s confusion. It’s deep thought, like he’s trying to put a puzzle together as he stares into your eyes, looking for a missing piece. 

“You okay?” You question quietly, trying to figure out your own puzzle.

He stares back at you in silence for a moment, and it’s not until he blinks that you see his eyes come back into focus.

“Why would they be here for you?”

*...Shit.*

“What?” You attempted to act confused, but you knew he wasn’t falling for it. He could probably hear your heart racing. 

“You said...they’re not here for us. We’re safe.” He slowly speaks to you, almost toying with you, giving you time to make sure all your lies were in place.

“Oh...I just meant the team. No one's here for the team. That’s all.” 

“Is that all?” He digs into you with his eyes waiting for you to respond.

He waits for a moment, his eyes dead set on yours, changing from a curious gaze to an almost feral one. You know he’s waiting for you to confess.

“No.” It comes out barely above a whisper. You would never lie to him.

“You told me I could trust you.” 

“You can...and I told you I would tell you about me at a later time.” 

“It’s later.” He stares back with an almost menacing look, yet still somewhat soft, demanding answers from you. 

Stretching out your neck, you exhale, not even knowing where to begin this conversation.

“That day on the bridge…”

“When I hurt you?” You roll your eyes and beg him to start with you.

This conversation was bound to happen, and to be honest, you’re surprised that it hadn’t dropped by anyone earlier. It wasn’t a secret, but you were hoping to share it after Bucky had been back for awhile. When his mind was a bit more stable. Not now, as he’s halfway through an anxiety attack, still looking for the way out.

“So.” He leans back into the wall, crossing his arms. “What else did I do to you?”

“No, it’s not like that.” You quickly respond.

“So then why were you scared today?”

“I thought they were here to take you.” 

“Yeah, I get that...but why would you think they would take you?”

You stare off at the wall almost zoning out, well aware that you were about to drop a bomb that could potentially destroy him.

“Because they’ve taken me before…” You quietly state. 

“And…”

“...and the day on the bridge wasn’t the first time we’ve met.”


	7. Chapter 7

1 ½ years before “the bridge”

“Start talking, or I swear I’ll break another one.” Rumlow twists at your finger, the pressure of the bones rubbing hard against one another. You hold back your scream but take it like a champ as he twists his hand, and the sound of bones splintering can be heard. It’s not like you didn’t ask for it. You weren’t talking, and perhaps flicking him off with your broken finger wasn’t the best idea. He could break all of them if he wanted. You weren’t giving up Steve’s location. 

“She’s stronger than she looks. Guess Fury trained you well.” 

“What the…” You look up from the floor and try to focus in while the sweat drips from your forehead, irritating your already hazy eyes. 

*Why the hell is he here?*

“Forgive me. I’d shake hands, but…” He nods toward your disfigured hand, somewhat disgusted by its appearance.

“You fucking traitor.” You bite down on your lip as the back of Rumlow’s hand smacks into your cheek.

You regain your focus on Pierce just before turning, spitting a mouthful of blood over Rumlow’s shoes. He winds his hand back but is stopped before contact.

“Stop!” Pierce holds out his hand in front of you. “She’s not going to talk. She never does. That’s why she’s been one of our top assets for years. You rather die wouldn’t you?”

“What, and miss out on my stay here in the five star luxury dungeon that you sick fucks call home. I heard you have a pool. Can’t learn to backstroke if you're dead, am I right?” 

Pierce leans forward, already completely over your attitude but aware that if he doesn’t play nice, he gets nothing from you. 

“Where is Rogers?” 

“Who?” 

“Steve Rogers. I want a location.”

“Don’t have one.” Another crack to the face and a quick kick to your knee sends you to the floor. 

“You better kill me, Brock...cause I swear, if I ever catch you alone…” You start to laugh like a psycho and he knows you’re serious. 

“Answer him...now!” He pulls your hair back as Pierce launches at you grabbing your cheeks in his hand. As he squeezes, you can feel the skin in your mouth tearing against your teeth, and the taste of blood fills it once again.

“Roger’s location.”

“How the fuck would I know? You’ve had me locked in this cement hotel for months. No communication to the outside world, remember? You think I get Wifi from my metal cot?” Brock’s hand grips harder into your hair and you can feel a knife on your throat. “You want Steve? Go find him your fucking self. I’m not your dog.”

Pierce’s voice sends shivers through your soul as he whispers near your ear. 

“I had such high hopes for you. Yet, you’ve done nothing but disappoint. You couldn’t have been one of the best.”

“I am one of the best. That’s why you took me...and why after six months you still don’t have shit.”

He lifts your head, smiling sadistically at the blood as it trails down your chin. 

“I’m sorry for what’s going to happen to you when I leave this room.” 

“I’m sorry that the best help you could find was Rumlow. Slim pickings out there these days, huh?” 

He shakes his head, frustrated with your obstinance.

“We could have taken over the world.”

You huff out a small laugh as blood drips from your lower lip.

“You can barely take over a McDonalds.”

He begins to laugh at your sarcasm. You were always his best agent. When he was “Shield” that is. 

“Get her out of my face.” He throws your head to the side before getting up, placing his suit coat back on. “Rumlow...maybe not so hard on her face. I need her to be able to speak.”

As Brock pulls you up by your hair, three more agents enter the room. They lean into Pierce whispering about something that seems to be something of interest, but you’re unable to make out what they’re saying.

“Take her to her room.” He speaks over his shoulder without looking back. “You can play later. We have more important matters to attend to.”

You watch as he opens the door and everyone around you stares at the ominous figure in black at the door.

“Mission status?”

“Осуществляется.” (acomplished)

You stare in wonder unaware of the butt of the gun swinging towards your head.

“Who the fu…” Your vision goes hazy until everything fades to black.

 

For three days he watched them enter your room. Within minutes each time, you were dragged down the hallway, and brought to one of the various rooms that they would use to “coerce” their hostages into talking.

“I don’t understand…do you want to die?” Rumlow leans against the wall in the corner of the room while another man tightens the ropes on your arms to the chair.

“If my only other option is having to listen to you for rest of my life, then yes.” 

He breathes out a sound of disbelief as he twirls a knife in his hand.

“I just don’t get what he’s sees in you.”

“Me neither. Maybe you should tell him to let me go.”

“Can’t do that. Not until you give us what we want.”

“Then you better upgrade me to a presidential suite because I don’t have shit for you guys.” As you finish your sentence, your stomach twists hard at the sound of your captor entering the dimly lit room.

“How’s our star player this morning?” The sounds of Pierce’s voice makes you cringe. 

“Fuuuck my liiife.” You groan out while dropping your head backwards into the chair.

“Agh...I see we’re still being uncooperative today?” 

“Pierce, how long are we going to do this? I mean, come on. You’ve broken my fingers. I don’t think I’ll ever walk the same again. I’m pretty sure I’ve swallowed like eight teeth, and your dog signed his name in my kidney three days ago. What the hell else…”

The door swings open suddenly and the tension in the room drastically rises. Guns are at the ready, and everyone seems on high alert. Except for Pierce. He smirks at you as you watch the unknown man in black stroll silently into the room. 

“Agent Y/L/N. I’d like to introduce you to someone special.”

“Do us all a favor and save the speech, Pierce. You’re the guy that they call in when shithead over there can’t do his job, right? It’s not his fault. He has performance issues. A few girls back at the compound told me he’s a bit trigger happy, if you know what I mean.” 

Rumlow strides towards you quickly swinging his gun at your face, but it’s grabbed by the sinister figure. Rumlow stares back at the man, but he never looks his way. He just glares down at you. 

“What’s your name big guy?” You look over his form, your attention drawn to the robotic looking prosthesis on his left side. “That’s a pretty bad ass arm you got there. Did they give that to you?” He says nothing, frozen in place. “Not much of a talker, huh Pierce?”

“He doesn’t need to. We like it that way.” 

Rolling your eyes, you mumble under your breath that he’s such a piece of shit. 

“I’m sorry...what was that, agent?” 

“I said you’re a piece of shit.”

“Mmmmm. Lovely.” 

You stretch your neck to the side as he leans down next to your ear and whispers.

“Last chance. Where...is...Rogers?”

You say nothing, just staring into the strangers eyes, ready for your next beating.

Pierce shakes his head before slapping you. His rings tearing into your skin, resulting in a large gash across your face.

You squint your eye, slowly turning your face to respond. 

“Hmpf. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He heads towards the door, Rumlow ordering everyone to move out.

The man in black leather pulls up a chair and sits. Calmly, patiently. He stares into your eyes with no emotions, no intentions.

He continued to do so for almost three hours.

“So...are you new to this?” No answer. “I think you’re supposed to be hitting me, or at the least threatening me or something.” Nothing.

Four hours later, and you can no longer feel your hands or feet. The ropes having cut off some of your circulation, no matter how many times you moved them around to keep them awake. The pins and needles were terrible hours ago, but now you didn’t even feel them. Your stomach was growling, you were dizzy, and your back was cramping. 

“What are we doing here big guy?”

The look on his face changes for just for a second, but long enough for you to catch it, even in your weakened state. Before you can figure out what’s happening, he stands and walks to you, tipping your chair backwards.

The sound of the metal rusted legs dragging across the concrete makes your skin crawl. He drags you back to your room, takes his knife out, cutting your restraints. He looks slowly towards your bed, then back at you. 

You attempt to stand but fall into the ground spastically from the loss of blood to your extremities. He doesn’t help. Only watches as you drag yourself across the floor to the best of your ability. By the time you get to your bed, you’re exhausted. You lean against it, unable to lift your body onto the mattress. The area around your wrists and ankles are on fire. There’s loose frayed skin covered in blood, and the tips of your fingers are purple. 

When you look up you find him staring back at you, his face emotionless. 

He blinks once, then drags the chair back to the door. He looks back at you briefly before throwing the chair out in the hall. 

“What are you…” The door slams shut, locked from the outside. 

“Rogers, you better be looking for me.”

This went on for one week, although you weren’t really worried. This tactic was familiar, and you had experienced it before. It was the good old, “make nicey nicey with the hostage, gain their trust, then turn on them when they least expect it” move. It was so rookie, even for Hydra. 

“Can I ask you something?” You stare back at the the man in black waiting for him to respond. “Do you even want to be here? Is your heart even in this?”

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. Something was off today. Even with his eyes shut you can see them rapidly moving behind his lids. There were small twitches near his mouth here and there that an untrained eye would never catch on to.

“Are you o…”

“Кто ты?” (who are you?) Your face frowns at the question. 

“What?” You answer back in complete confusion.

“Кто..” (who?)

“I understood your question, I speak Russian. Do you really not know who I am?” You feel it’s just another lame plan to get info out of you, but something else in you tells you that he really doesn’t know who you are or even why he is even here.

“Почему вы не важны? Почему ты здесь?” (What makes you so important? Why are you here?)

“Those are both great questions to which I wish I had the answer to.”

“Ваше имя?” (Your name?)

“Y/N Y/L/N...but you already know that.”

His eyes start to search the tiles as if he is reading a book, or searching for a clue.

“я знаю тебя.” (I know you.)

“You should. You killed my parents. Well, not you specifically. You look pretty young...but your friends out there did.”

“Проект…” (Project…)

“Hold on...do you really not know who I am, or why I’m here? What, did they just pull you in and tell you to beat me and give you no reason why, or even bother to tell you what you were looking for.”

His look says everything you need to know, confirming your suspicions to be true.

“Jesus, what kind of a hack organization is he running here!” 

“Где он?” (Where is he?”)

“No clue. Haven’t seen him.” 

As he opens his mouth to speak, your door slams open.

“He wants to see you. Now!”

The figure in black gets up slowly, almost robotically like he was conditioned to obey whatever they said, without hesitation.”

“Same time again tomorrow I assume?” You call out as he walks away. “Rollins.” 

“I won’t be so easy on you.” He takes off his gloves slowly, cracking his knuckles.

“I expect nothing less from you.”

 

You had no idea what time it was. You barely knew where you were. Your vision comes and goes as your dragged by two men back to your cell. Your arms burn as they hold them up behind you, your legs and toes dragging along the floor, catching on small cracks and thresholds. You could taste blood, smell it, and see droplets on the floor each time your heads drops. He had done a number on you.

Your memories of the last few hours were few and far between. You had almost blacked out from the blood loss and the major concussion you were sure you had. Only small glimpses of Rollins’s swinging at you, and repeatedly giving you small jolts of electricity played on repeat in your mind. The sounds of screaming every few seconds ricocheted through your eardrums, but you honestly don’t remember doing it during the session.

Your captors halt suddenly in front of the slightly closed doorway, still hanging you from your arms. 

“Stop for a second. I want to see this.”

Rollins sees the two agents peek in so he happily opens the door for them to watch. Inside the room Rumlow folds his arms, focused on the man in the device until hearing the creak of the door hinges.

That’s when you saw him.

Rumlow turns and menacingly sneers your way. You inhale deeply as you he strides towards you because you’re not sure you can handle much more tonight. 

“Drop her.” He demands.

The two men holding you tightly let go of your limbs and you fall face first to the floor. Your arms are numb, and you could barely stay awake, let alone fight.

He walks around you slowly, gently placing his boot on your hair, forcing you to look into the room being unable to move your head away. Rollins looks back at you unamused before glancing up at Rumlow. 

“Again.” Rollins says to what seems to be a lab rat.

Rumlow hovers above, whispering into your ear.

“I want you to watch this. This is what happens when you don’t cooperate. This is what happens when you fail a mission.”

The chest of the man inside the machine jerks. The veins in his arms thicken, his grip almost tearing the armrests upon which they sit. His scream fills the room. It echoes off of every surface. You swear you can smell something burning, and if you listen hard enough, you would swear his teeth are shattering. He looks exhausted. You have no idea how long he’s been in the device. Sadly, though, you can tell from his reactions that this isn’t his first time.

“This is his punishment. His job was to get you to talk. You didn’t, so he failed. Now he has to to pay for it.”

As he watches your respiratory rate increase, he notices you trying to close your eyes, escaping the sight in front of you.

“No no. Keep them open. You need to see what you did.”

“I didn’t…”

“No...you didn’t. You didn’t talk, you didn’t share. You didn’t cooperate. So you failed him, therefore he failed us. So…in a way, his pain…his agony...is all your fault.”

Gritting your teeth, the anger boils inside of your body and soul.

“I hope he kills you one day.”


	8. Chapter 8

It had been three hours. Bucky never left your room. He sat on the floor listening to you recount your days in a Hydra cell. He didn’t know what to say or how to feel.

“How long?” He questions under his breath.

“How long?” You mimic back, unsure as to what he meant.

“How long did we keep you there?” Leaning forward you place your hand on his knee.

“You didn’t keep me there, Bu…”

“How Long!” His demanding voice makes you sigh. He would never be happy without an answer, and he felt like he deserved to know.

“Over a year… give or take.” You mumble back.

“A year! Oh my god. How could you sit here and be so calm and collected about it? How can you even look me in the face after...after.” He waves his hands in frustration when he can’t seem to find the words to describe any of his emotions.

“How can I…? Easily. You never laid a hand on me. You never once did what they asked. You never hurt me. 

You took so much abuse...for me. Honestly? I should be asking you those questions. I didn’t even know it was you until I saw Steve with the picture from your file.”

The look on his face drops, a sudden feeling of fear, anxiety, and disappointment on his features.

“Oh my God...Steve. How much does he know about what happened to you? About what I…”

“About what you didn’t do? Everything. We prepared for you to come for us after I returned home. I never had a name or face to give them though...until Nat found your file. I knew as soon as I saw your face that I had to go back to get you. No matter what anyone here told me about you, leaving you there was never an option for me.”

“I was a murderer. Who in their right mind convinced you that it would be a good idea to come back for me?”

You grant him a small sarcastic smile before answering.

“You did.”

 

1 year hostage in the Hydra compound...give or take.

The sounds of his screams had become a common occurrence for you. He would “visit” you often for information, each time leaving with nothing. Each time he came in was a different experience. Some days it was like he had never even met you. Asking you your name, why you were here, what do you know. Other days he seemed more familiar with you. Almost like he had remembered who you were, but he wasn't quite sure.

You had become so bored by his visits that sometimes you didn’t even get out of bed. He would walk in, and you would roll over and go back to sleep. He would sit there for hours and watch you, making eye contact with you every forty minutes or so when you rolled over to see that he was still there.

“Aren’t you getting bored of this?”

“Где…”

“I swear if the next words that come out of your mouth is Steve Rogers, I will bash in my own head with this metal cot.”

“Who is he?” Your eyes fling open and you twist on your bed.

“What?” You turn slowly and cautiously towards him. 

“The man they want...who is he?” Your mouth stayed wide as your brain tried to search for words and phrases to answer him. He had never once spoken to you in English, and never once in that softer tone.

“Steve? Steve...Rogers?” 

“The picture in his file...I...I know him...I think.”

“What’s your name?” 

The door opens slowly, Rollins stands in the threshold waiting for the man to respond. 

“Get up.” When the man in black doesn’t move, he kicks his chair with his boot. “Get...up.” He says sharply. He slowly stands, but stares at you like he is digging into your soul. He knows what’s coming, as do you.

He leaves you in your room, and as the door slams, you drag your limp, weak body to the door. You can’t make out a thing, but you also can’t hear any screaming, so you figure that must be a good sign.

“Your work last week was magnificent. We appreciate everything that you do for us. You are truly an asset to us all.”

Pierce had decided to fly back to “check in” on you, and to make sure that his operation was running smoothly. 

He was displeased when he saw that not only were you still here, you were alive and doing somewhat well. Your wounds seemed to be healing, and there was nothing fresh to note in the medical report.

“Your only flaw…” He walks slowly around the man trying to intimidate him. “...is that pesky little voice in your head that tells you to stop.” He comes back around, pulling up a chair in front of him. “It’s truly astonishing how you can flourish at one task, but fail so completely in another.”

He lifts his hand, motioning his fingers for something.

Pierce stands, as two men drag you into the the room, slamming you into the chair previously occupied by himself.

“Y/N Y/L/N. You...hmpf...you…” He turns around slowly, but spins quickly to backhand you one time. “You infuriate me.” He spits through his teeth.

“I know.” You sarcastically answer after spitting out blood on the floor. “You remind me every time we meet. It’s super awesome.”

He hands his suit jacket to Rollins as he pulls up another chair in front of you. His sinister grin makes you want to kick his teeth down his throat. 

“Where are we here?” He asks.

“Ummm. I don’t know, some run down shitty Hydra base in the middle of nowhere? I’m not actually sure.”

He despises you, and you can’t honestly say the feeling isn’t mutual.

“Would you like me to catch you up?”

“Honestly? I could care less, but I have a feeling you’re going to anyway.” 

Rumlow goes to swing at you but you stop him with your hand. Everyone is shocked by this, but you had had enough of him. You hold tight, glaring at him through narrow eyes, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Hit me one more fucking time…I swear I’ll tear your jugular from your neck.” He looks back at Pierce, who nods back at him. 

“Go away, and let the grown ups talk.” You snarl back at him. “You were saying?”

“Steve Rogers has been located.”

“Well that’s great news for you. Congrats. Can I go now?”

“If only it were that simple.” He says.

“It’s exactly that simple. Your mission was to find Rogers, which...per you, you have. So you don’t need me to help you anymore. Therefore, you can let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’ve seen too much.”

“The only thing I’ve seen for the last eight months is the end of the ‘fuck up twins’ fists. So unless your secrets are tattooed on their knuckles. I got nothing.”

To this he chuckles, and you’re unsure as to why it’s so funny. 

“How long do you think that you have you been here?” You look around at the agent's now smirking at you.

“Eight months or so? Not sure really. No calendars on my wall, mostly just rust and brick.”

“Well, we only give you what’s needed to survive.”

“You and I have very different ideas apparently on what’s needed for survival.” 

“The answer is twelve months.”

“Twelve months!” You drop your head back into the chair. “It took you twelve months to find Rogers?”

You didn’t mean to, or hell maybe you did, start to chuckle deliriously at how annoyed he looked. 

“You guys really are the worst organization!” 

I mean...twelve months? If they only knew what you had accomplished in those months. In one you had figured out their motives behind your kidnapping. In three you had nailed down a precise location as to where the base was. In four you had stolen at least four guns, and had numerous knives hidden around your room. Six months in you had finished your two way comm radio, and had Informed Steve and Nat of your location. They wanted to get you then, but you had convinced them to let you stay to gather info on their plans, fully against Steve’s better judgment. At eight you had maps of the base, exit strategies, and at least three agents who for sure were traitors. Which brings you to now. 

“Do you know why we’ve kept you all this time?” 

“Of course. You figured Steve would come looking for me and walk right into your trap. Only he didn’t. Which is super awkward...I mean for you, not for me.” 

“We’ve made contact, gave him a clue as to where you could be.”

“Wait wait wait. So you think, that Steve Rogers is dumb enough to come into a Hydra base in the middle of nowhere, outnumbered, and risk his life to save me? We’re not even that close!”

Yes, that's exactly what he's going to do. That was your escape plan, and you had been working on it for months.

“Mmhmm. Steve Rogers, the savior, the hero. The soldier that would never leave his teammate behind.”

“If that were true, I wouldn’t still be here after...what did you say? Twelve months?” The thought of all that time going by makes you start to laugh again. “Shit. I’m sorry, its just...it’s still funny.”

“I don't think he’ll be laughing when he see the condition that you’re in when he gets here. It's going to be hard to escape with someone so...broken.” He circles the room, turning back to wave at your body, sneering your way. 

You nod in understanding.

“So your plan is to what? Beat me within an inch of my life? Make it so I won’t try to escape, so he’ll have to either leave me behind, or give himself up?” 

He gives a quick nod. “More or less.”

“You think Captain America, God's righteous man is going to have any of that?” You were so over this. “You know what, whatever, let’s just get to the highlight of this meeting. How long do I have until the…’event,’ and who is going to do the honors?”

“This fine soldier right here before you.” He motions towards the man in Black, who barely lifts his eyes from the floor.

“Mmmmm. Going with the heavy hitter, huh? You sure he’s ready for me?”

“He will be. We’re going to prepare him for the fight of the century, and this time...he knows the stakes. You see, we had to do a little ‘reprogramming’ if you will. We noticed that you seem to be healing, which is quite interesting since he was given strict orders for compliance when it came to you for your...care if you will. Unfortunately, there is a pesky little voice in his brain…and that little son of a bitch... will not shut up!” Pierce shouts in his face, which you can tell angers him. 

The soldier flinches in the chair. He glances up at you, and you stare back hard at him. You both seem to be speaking to each other, though no words were exchanged. He was scared, and sorry for what he was going to have to do to you. You, on the other hand, were worried. Not about you, more him, as you blinked back telling him it was okay. 

“Good things are about to happen Agent Y/L/N. Well... not for you, for me.” He smirks back at you. 

“Can I leave now?” 

He flicks his hand telling them to undo your cuffs.

You stare at rumlow, then at the man in the chair.

You slowly walk to the machine, lean down, and whisper into the soldier’s ear.

He grits his teeth ever so slightly, pinching his lips shut tightly. 

You turn to Pierce raising a brow, and begin to walk out of the room. As you get to the threshold, you turn slowly to speak. 

“I look forward to our next meeting.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You have to start hitting me eventually. You know that right?” You sit in a chair across from the soldier trying to grab his attention. 

“Hey!” Snapping your fingers suddenly wakes him as he finally makes eye contact. 

“You know if you don’t do it, you’re going to get put back in the chair.” 

He sits in a metal chair not two feet from you. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. At this point you wish he would just hit you, because it was far better than him just being a creeper. 

“Is it performance issues? Do you not want to hit me...because I’m actually pretty cool with that...but they’re not.” 

Everything in your body told you to stop what you were about to do. Your teeth and lips fought for dominance, but your tongue fought back even harder. 

Don’t get involved, just keep your mouth shut. 

“What’s your name?” You receive no answer, but know that you’ve struck a nerve as his eyes start to blink in an uneven pattern, his brows furrowed as if he’s digging deep into a hole in his mind, looking for something unknown in the dark.

“How long have you been here? Did they…”? You nod towards his arm, then back at him. He’s yet to make eye contact with you again as he’s still deep in thought. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk, or you can’t.” When he finally breaks free from his thoughts ,he’s able to look up at you. There’s almost a hint of softness to his eyes. 

You’re going to try to help this asshole, aren’t you? Don’t help this asshole. You know you can’t trust him, he’s Hydra. Don’t. Y/N, don't.

“I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here. I just know that if you don’t do what they’ve told you to do, you’ll pay for it. They’ll keep hurting you until they get what they want. They don’t care about you, or me. They care about their mission. That’s all.”

Tilting your head you scan his face, trying to get a read of what he was thinking. You couldn’t begin to place his emotions. It was a mixture of anger, fear, and stress. He looked exhausted. You knew for a fact he never slept. When he wasn’t being tortured in the chair, he was fighting his captors off, or being used as a training dummy. Everytime it seemed he would finally have a break, they would double the load, and work him to the brink of insanity again. 

You never knew which man would show up in your room when it came to his visits. There were days where he was calm, collected, in charge of his emotions. Other days were rage filled, anxious, maniacal. Some days you would sleep through your time together because you could tell he didn’t care what happened. Other days you were shaken to your soul because you were convinced that this would be the day that he killed you. 

“Are you going to hurt me today?” You know he’s not, and the twitching of his eyelids tells you you’re right. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the very top of his boot bouncing ever so slightly, but very fast paced. It would have been unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but that’s not you. 

He’s anxious, and it’s getting worse. 

The sound of voices can be heard slowly approaching the room. The floor tapping gets worse.

“They’re coming. You have to do something.” 

You begin to glare at him, the feeling of your own anxiety beginning to take hold. You switch from him, to the door and back again. 

“Do something. You gotta…” You speak quietly as you hear the lock of the door clicking. “Come on...they’re going to put you in the chair again. You know that.” 

He finally breaks. The look of panic in his eyes, searching yours for what to do. It’s a look you’ve never seen from him before. He knows you’re right. They’re going to hurt him again, but it’s to late. They’re already here, and there’s not a scratch to your skin.

God damn it…

You run at him full force grabbing his knife from his side, making a quick, jagged slice down your arm. He grabs your arm, the look of confusion everywhere. Your blood seeps over his metal hand, filling the grooves in each plate. As the door opens, you pull him off of the chair, forcing his hand onto your neck. He attempts to pull back in an attempt to control the situation.

“Don’t move!” You yell out in a whisper. Your eyes almost panicked, but begging him at the same time not to ruin this. 

The door opens slowly behind you, the sight of Rumlow making you sick. The soldier hovers above you, hand slack around your neck. Knowing he could kill you easily, but something inside of him telling him not to. 

You put on a good show. Gasping out, choking. Keeping one hand tight around his wrist, making sure he kept up the facade while the other punches against his arm, and swings at his face. 

“Enough! He wants her alive…for now.”

The soldier looks back down at you. Perplexed, angry, but relieved. 

He wouldn’t be tormented tonight. He wouldn’t feel his skin burn while the fire ran inside of him, through his veins like lightning melting his flesh to his bones. He would be able to think tonight. To maintain some sort of himself. Maybe even a memory would remain. Just one is all he needs. Just one would be enough to get him through the night. Just one to remind him that somewhere, deep inside of him, remains the soul of someone...or something. Something so close that his fingertips can just graze it. Just feel it, but far enough away that the grip never sticks on long enough for him to keep it. 

“Let’s go!” He feels a kick from behind him, his boots being knocked to the side. He turns back, glaring at Rumlow. There is a mental fight between them. They both know they have to power to destroy each other in some way, but it’s a game as to who will recede on a daily basis. 

You grip his wrist once, asking him to refocus on you. As he turns back, he looks deep into your eyes, almost thanking you before you lighten your grip, letting him remove his hand from your throat. You cough out dramatically, rubbing your neck, swallowing hard for effect. 

He looks down at his blood covered hand, then your arm and neck. He’s not sure if it looks traumatic enough for them to believe that it’s real, but he’s willing to bet that they’re dumb enough for it to work. 

“Did you have fun?” Rumlow chuckles, admiring the fresh cut on your arm. 

“Yeah.” You cough a few times. “I like it rough.” 

“Go get the doctor.” He demands of the agent behind him. “Can’t have you bleeding out on us, now can we?”

“You’re to kind. How are you still single?” 

“Now who said I wasn’t?” 

“Well, look at you. You and Rollins finally made it official, huh? Bout time really. I mean, you’ve been up each other’s asses for years.” 

He walks slowly to you, leaning down into your ear. He presses his hand around your throat and whispers. 

“Are you jealous that I’m not up yours?” 

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore you saw the wall behind you. 

“You’re just not my type.” He mumbles.

“Is it because I’m alive?” 

He smiles next your face, his scruff rubbing harshly against your cheek. You know he’s going to hit you but you don’t care, because it’s worth every one you take to see him flustered.

He runs his hand along you arm, pressing his fingers into your cut. Gritting your teeth, you fight back the overwhelming need to scream. 

“I’m going to kill you one day.” He whispers

“Looking forward to it.” 

As he turns to leave, the doctor rushes through the door holding a medical bag, alongside a scared, frail women holding a small tray of food at the door. He smacks his fist into the underside of the tray, sending the contents sailing throughout the hallway. The women hides her face as she lets out a small yelp. 

“She doesn’t eat tonight.” Brock mumbles as he leaves.

“She needs to eat. Per Pierce’s order.” The doctor kneels next to you on the floor and opens his bag. Pulling bandages, suture material, and a variety of surgical scrubs out. 

“He's not here, and I say, she doesn’t eat tonight.” He leans into the doctors face, hoping that he’ll question him. 

“Yes, sir.”

As everyone watches the interaction, you look elsewhere at the man with the metal arm. He’s not involved, and has no desire to be. He doesn’t watch the confrontation ahead of him, instead looking to the wall to his left. 

You secretly follow his eyes to the wall, which showcases nothing but a small rusted metal shelving unit and a vent. You bring your eyes back to the doctor checking his supplies, then the women picking up the food from the floor. They seem preoccupied as Rumlow reads them riot act, so you turn back to the man in black. Only this time, he is focused on you. Your brows furrow, your eyes crease as you wonder what he’s after. Without moving his head, his eyes slowly fall to the side, the vent in his view. 

What the fu…?

“Are you listening? I said move out!” Rumlow points his gun at the soldier who shows no fear, but trails out of the room anyway.

The door slams behind them, but you can hear praise being offered to him for a job well done. 

Later in the evening, you find yourself starving, dizzy, and nauseous from the lack of nutrition your body has received in the last twenty four hours. 

Staring at the ceiling, you will yourself to fall asleep. Knowing if you do, the pain in your stomach won’t be as bad, and the headache you have will subside as well. Just as your body falls, it’s startled awake by the sound of a object hitting metal of some kind. You curl up in your bed, dreading what it could be.Praying that they don’t have some sort of new idea on how to torture you at night. 

Just ignore it.

Your eyes shoot open as you hear the noise coming from the right of you again. Leaving your bed to investigate, you cautiously approach the wall to find out what could be causing the rolling sound coming from within.

Crouching by the shelving unit your fingers fan out to begin their search, but nothing seems out of place. The floor is dusty and grimy, the wall cracked and rough with old bricks, but nothing else out of the ordinary from what you can tell. 

That’s when you hear it. 

The air kicks on, and the distinct noise of something in the vent catches your ear. 

Crawling to the side, your fingers begin to pull at the vent. Grasping and gripping the edges, with nothing to show for your effort, as you find it’s screwed in to the wall. You can just barely see that something is inside, and the lack of light keeps you from identifying the object.

Take a deep breath. Find your points.

With your back against the wall, you start to mentally map out everything in your room. You slide your fingers through the dirt on the floor, casually feeling for the loose tiles that you have hidden the small blades in. You lift one of the few, finding a small switchblade, spinning quickly to make your way back to the wall. 

Outlining the edges, you feel four screws, and begin to make quick work of each one. It takes a bit of wiggling, but after a minute or two, you manage to break the grate free from the brick. As you do, something hard and round hits the floor at your knees, rolling away before you can grab on to it.

Shit. Where did it go.

Spinning quietly you search the floor for the object in question until the air kicks on again. The sound of something crackling draws your attention back to the vent. Sticking your hand back in to feel around, you sigh in relief when you actually come in contact with something new. 

A pencil and a torn scrap of paper. 

You shuffle towards the door, leaning into the small crack underneath. It’s the only ounce of light that can be seen anywhere in the room. Smoothing out the creases, you can barely make out what is written on it..

есть. (Eat)

It was such a simple word, that brought so many emotions from it. 

You rush back to the wall, and begin to frantically search for the object that had fallen from the dark hole earlier. When you finally find it, your knee bumps into the small hard object sending it rolling. You chase after it, banging your head into a pipe jutting from the wall. 

Owww. Fuck my life, I swear.

Gasping when your hand hand makes contact with it, you bring it back to your line of sight. 

An apple.

Everything in your body tells you to eat it. Even though you know it will barely help you, it’s still something. Your brain, even though it’s hazy and a bit behind, shuts down all notions as it calculates every risk assocIated with the small food.

This is a trap. You know it is. It’s Injected with something, it’s an experiment. It’s a trick. It’s sedation. It will take you out, and who knows where you will wake up. It’s someone trying to get you to trust them. Make friends with you, then burn you alive later. 

No way. I’d rather die here, but I’ll play along.

You scribble a note onto the paper.

Who are you?

You roll the paper around the pencil and aim it back as hard as you can. When you hear it hit the wall, you make note of the distance so you can adjust your throw for next time, should there be a next time. 

It’s pretty close, the next room maybe? 

You wait a few minutes for something to come back, but nothing ever does.

The game with the mystery opponent was played every night for four days. Each night a note telling you to eat, a new food item, but never a return message as to who they were. 

Five days later and your routine had not been broken. You were exhausted as each night you attempted to sleep, the sound of clanking metal would jerk you awake from your hypoglycemia induced slumber. 

As you lean against the wall on your bed waiting for the man in black to engage in combat, you once again become bored as all he does is sits and stares at you. Never once showing any signs that he would be performing the duties that had been asked of him once again. 

“Is it okay if I just take a nap? I’m still pretty tired from the stimulating conversation that we had yesterday.”

When he looks up at you, you swear you see a light in his eyes, one you have never seen before. Maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you. 

When he doesn’t speak, you lay back on your bed and shift to get comfortable. He watches as you twist and turn, trying to mold your body into the bed. As you press your hips down, the sound of something small being crushed can be heard. You freeze when you hear it, pretending to clear your throat, doing your best to mimick the sound. 

There was no way he didn’t hear that. You’re screwed.

You’re startled as you feel his hand on your back, rolling you over to your side. He grabs your arm, pulling you up and off of the cot. 

Once standing, he holds your arm tightly while ripping off the small dirty mattress, tossing it to the side. 

His eyes become angered as he looks down to the metal springs, filled with goods that you had been offered throughout the week. 

When he turns back to you, his eyes are filled with disappointment and frustration.

Releasing his grip, he walks towards the bed grabbing an apple. He picks the mattress up, placing it back on the springs. Once again covering the hidden assortment before grabbing you and pushing you lightly back onto the bed. He saunters back to his chair and slowly sits back, his dark eyes finding yours once again.

“Why aren’t you eating?” He asks thoroughly annoyed. 

He tosses the apple towards you expecting an answer.

You catch it, look it over and glance quickly back at him. 

“No thank you.” You respond, tossing it back to him. “I don’t eat food when I don’t know where it came from.”

He takes a moment to consider your answer. 

“It came from me.” He throws it back a little harder this time becoming agitated. “Eat.”

“I don’t trust you.” Throwing it back, he lifts his brows and nods in agreement at your answer.

“That’s smart. You shouldn’t.”

Unsheathing the knife from his thigh holster, he begins to cut small slices into the apple. He takes a sliver and eats it, then another. Your mouth waters at the sight. Your hadn’t eaten in two, maybe three days. You could barely focus on his form at times. 

As you sit there dazed and tired, you hear the sounds of people approaching. 

“Guess our time is done.” 

You drag yourself to the closest wall, leaning your forehead against it. Pushing with as much force as you could muster, you slide your head down the jagged bricks, your skin catching against the rough pieces exposed, uneven cracks here and there. You grimace at the feel of your skin pulling and tearing against it. Blood trickles down your nose, the smell of iron making you nauseous. At this point, you were so dazed you could give two shits about it. 

You walk back to him, meeting him halfway. He can’t help but to squint at the sight of your face. 

“Knife.” You request. He just stares, ignoring you request. “Knife.”

Crossing his arms, he refuses. 

“No?” You kick your head to the side and shrug before heading back to your bed to sit. “Well, have fun in the chair tonight.” His eye twitches, and you know you have him. 

You shouldn’t have said it, especially when he had never hurt you before. But you were in such a damn mood that you just didn’t care anymore. 

Better you hurt him than the other way around, right?

As you turn, he lunges forward grabbing your arm, spinning you back around.

You now he’s not going to hurt you, but you edge him on just the same.

“One hit big guy, that’s all it will take. I’m pretty weak, I won’t even fight back today. One hit, and we both sleep tonight.” 

His breath is heavy. He knows he needs to, he knows the repercussions of what will happen if he doesn’t, but he just can’t make himself do it. 

The door clicks, and you know this is it. The scratches on your face weren’t enough to save you both today.

You smack his hand off of you, sighing as you roll your eyes.

“I’ll do it myself.” You back up two feet before crouching. “You owe me.” His eyes jerk open as he watches you run full speed at the wall. You lean your head to the side and slam it, instantly losing focus as your legs beginning to buckle below you.

Instant, ripping pain shoots through your eyes. Sparks of lightning surround your vision. The spot instantly throbbing as blood drips through your lashes. 

Behind you, his chest is heaving as his head tries to catch up, still unable to comprehend why you’re doing this for him. 

His arms are the first to respond as they stretch out for you, cradling your head before it takes another blow against the harsh stone cold ground.

As the door opens, his face turns to anger as the color in your face drains, your eyes losing their sparkle.

To them, it looks horrific. How long did he slam you into that walk? When did your body finally give out? 

He lowers your head gently to the floor before standing. 

He strides menacingly toward the doctor and woman who shakes in fear. 

“Устранить ее, теперь.” (Fix her, now.) The doctor rushes to your side, searching for your pulse. A breath of relief when he finds you’re still with them. 

He turns wildly to the lady, no tray in hand. 

“Кормить ее.” (Feed her.) He growls under his breath.

“We...we can’t.” He grabs a hold of the women in white who screams out, shielding her face from his glare. 

“Кормить ее, сейчас.” (Feed her, now.)

He turns back to the doctor one last time, seeing your unconscious body next the bed.

“Если она умрет, то и вы.” (If she dies, so do you.)


	10. Chapter 10

Waking hours later you find yourself cold, and unaware of your surroundings. The light in your eyes burn your retinas, and every time you shift them the pain of the movement is like an ice pick to your brain. Nausea hits you like a freight train, and it occurs to you that you probably have a concussion. A sharp pinch in your arm jerks you from your haze. Gasping when you feel hair ripping from your arm. The pain seems to kick start your senses as you can just barely make out the fuzzy image of the doctor pulling a catheter from your arm, placing a bandage over the now bleeding site.

“Wha…” Is all you manage to get out before he looks to the side of the room, an expression of fear coating his face. You follow his gaze to the corner where the shadow of a dark figure lurks. 

“She is recovered. Please, let us go. If they find out…”

“Убирайся.” (Get out.) He demands, a rumble in his throat.

Standing quickly, the doctor grabs his medical bag, shoving the equipment and supplies back in. He trembles as he stares at the floor, and you wonder what had happened when you were asleep that had made a normally calm man turn into such a frightened mess.

“Please...my...my wife. Please, sir.”

As you look back to the shadows of your room, the man in black emerges slowly holding a knife to the woman’s throat.

She shudders beneath him as tears flow down her cheek. 

“I swear on my life, they will never know.” He says.

“Поклянись ей.” (Swear on hers.) 

She cries out into the silent room, begging her husband with pleading eyes to agree, to which he does.

The soldier pushes her forward into him, grasping each other as if they had been reunited lovers kept apart for years.

He nods towards the door and they run, expressing their thanks before slamming the door.

The soldier makes a slow stride towards you, curiously examining your head. 

Satisfied, he turns to leave making no indication of listening as you call out to him.

“Why did you…?” The sound of the door slamming is like a hammer to your temples, and just like that, you’re alone in your room again.

There were no visitors that day. It was peaceful...quiet. Just you alone with your thoughts, which is the way you liked it. It gave you time to assess your surroundings and your wounds. Your escape plan with Steve. 

You were feeling better as you had devoured a full tray of food. Actual muscle building, protein enriched food. Not just leftover pieces of stale bread, or bones with barely a touch of meat on them with a side of dirty water. He actually made them give you life sustaining food.

Which left you to question...why?

Two days later he finally makes an appearance again. Not that he had a choice. The doctor had informed that you that Rumlow had returned yesterday afternoon, so this was the last time that he would be feeding you unless ordered otherwise.

At the doctor’s leave, you find yourself staring at the soldier as he stands firmly in place in the center of the room. You realize five minutes in that It was as if the entire episode from earlier in the week had never taken place. You fell right back into your old routine. Him pretending to be the obedient soldier while you played the abused hostage.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you decide to make the first move of the game. 

“Stop.” He says quietly, pushing your hand away as you try to grab his knife from his leg.

“Did they hurt you last night?” He doesn’t answer. “Did they put you in…”

“No.” 

“So it’s working. Now give me the knife.” You hold out your hand and nod at his leg. His constant refusal continuing to infuriate you. 

“Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting yourself for me? You’re risking your life doing this. You know that, right?” His brows crease as he folds his arms across his chest. 

“I can say the same about you. Why are you feeding me? They’re going to catch on sooner or later. They’re going to find it in here. You know they will...and then we’re both royally fucked.” 

You try to distract him by moving your arm to the side. When he looks, you reach down towards his leg.

After smacking your hand away once again, he gives you a small push backwards.

“Stop.” He demands, harsher than before.

“What is your endgame here?” You grit your teeth, turning your back on him as you head back towards your bed. Throwing yourself onto the mattress, you lay back, hiding your eyes with your arms.

“I mean, how do you plan on almost killing me when you can’t even hurt me now? Are you just hoping that if you fuck up enough that they’ll kill you first? Take you out of your own misery...and make it easy for you?”

When you shift your focus back to him, you find him staring at the floor. Unable to answer what you had inquired about.

“That’s it isn’t it? You’d rather die than do their dirty work?” The sudden mood in the room had turned from frustration, to despair and sadness. “Why don’t you try to escape? Leave this place. Get out?”

You could tell that you had hit a nerve as it seemed that his mind was having an internal struggle within itself. Giving him a once over you find yourself tracing the lines of his arm, wondering what was under his shirt. How far did the metal travel? How much damage was there?

“What did they…”

“When is your friend coming?” His irritable tone breaks your stare.

“My friend isn’t coming.” You respond flatly.

He’ll be here next week. 

“If he was, he would have already rescued me by now.”

He tried at least ten times, I told him no.

“I think it’s safe to assume that they consider me dead at this point.” 

They would be assholes if they did.

A frustrated growl comes from deep within his throat as he begins to pace the floor. 

“They’re not going to wait much longer.” Mumbling almost low enough that you couldn’t hear.

“Sorry?” You shrug sarcastically. 

The two of you freeze as the locks on the door begin to click. You jump from the bed and begin your attack, running at the door full steam.

He crouches knowing what to expect as his hands stretch down to cover his weapons. He’s taken off guard at the sight of your hand forming into a tight fist. As you swing near him, he’s stunned when he realizes that he was never the intended target.

A dull thud followed by the sounds of agents screaming, guns clicking, and Rumlow’s voice screaming threats into your ear pulls the soldier from his daze. 

His heart pounds in his chest when the gleam of a knife catches his eye. His boots pound into the tile, grabbing the vest of the agent garnishing the weapon at your neck. Tossing him as if he was a pillow into the wall.

Rumlow throws his full weight into the soldier, multiple soldiers pinning him to the wall, guns at the ready should Brock give the call.

“What are you doing right now, soldier? You thinking of starting something?” He lets out a small laugh before whispering to him. “You missing your chair?” 

The soldier stares at Brock, their eyes burning threats and promises to each other.

“She dies...we die.” 

And there it is…

“Well...you’re right about that, soldier.” Rumlow peers back at you over his shoulder. “We can’t kill her...but we can still have some fun with her.”

The angry scowl on your face only edges him on for more torment and torture. You only break from each other’s glare when you hear a faint grunting from the knocked out agent as he lifts himself from the floor. His teammate helps to steady him as he wipes the blood from his lip.

“Reid.” The agent follows the sound of his name. “Go ahead. You get one shot. Hands only.” 

Rumlow looks to the soldier who stares down Reid, almost daring him to follow the order.

“If the soldier interferes, you get two.” 

The bones in his cheeks ripple and tense as he tries to remain calm. The two of you catch each other’s gaze momentarily, and his eyes are almost begging you not to start shit. 

But that’s not just not in your nature. 

As he lines up in front of you, Brock grabs onto your hair steadying your head.

Yours eyes spark quickly as a sadistic smile traces your lips.

“Better make it a good one...don’t want to embarrass the both of us. Rumlow does that enough for you guys already.”

A small laugh leaves your throat when you see the soldier behind them close his eyes in frustration.

You grunt as the all to familiar feeling of a firm set of knuckles shifts your jaw out of place. Only a second before your world fades to black once more.  
________________________

 

The 107th. Shipping out first thing tomorrow. I thought you were dead.I thought you were smaller. Noooooo, not without you!

Clank clank, ting ting, ting.

Noooooooooooooooooo! 

Sergeant Barnes...the procedure has already started. You are to be the new fist of HYDRA. 

You hear him still, don’t you? Don’t fight him. You’re still in there. There is good in you. Promise me...please?

You’re work has been a gift to mankind. Bzzzzzzzzzz. Aghhhhhhhhh! 

Knife. Knife. Knife Why are you doing this? 

“Errrggghhhh!”

Awaking in a panic, the plates of his arm shift frantically as he tries to catch his breath. He rocks as he rubs the sweat from his eyes with his knuckles, pressing harder than intended. He can still hear everything. His palms press against his ears as if he’s trying to force all of their voices back into his brain, keeping them all from escaping.

The sounds are louder than they normally are. The visions brighter. Their faces becoming clearer as each night passes. The familiar voice inside of him telling him to remember. 

Remember.

I can’t.

The rocking becomes more frantic as he begins to pound his fist into his forehead.

Come on. Give me something. I need something. A face, a name, a…

The flash of a symbol blinds him, shooting a sharp pain through his eyes. 

Mimic.

A word. A project. A name.

It's not much, but it’s enough to satisfy him for now. Enough to tell his body that it’s okay. Enough for him to keep up this charade with you, because he knows that each night out of the chair sparks a new memory for him to touch. A new memory for him to hold. A memory that might help him remember who he is, and if he was ever worth saving. Or one that would prove once and for all that he deserved everything that he was given.

It’s enough 

He repeats to himself as he lays back down, pulling his sweat drenched shirt from his torso. Scratching the scars near the metal, a phantom itch that reminds him daily of the pain he’s received, and the pain he’s caused. 

It’s enough.

_______________________

You wake to a wet pillow. The back of your hand dragging against a rough surface along your cheek. When your eyes finally adjust to the dimly lit room, you try to sit up, but lean quickly over the bed. Vomiting from the lack of food, and the stagnant blood that sat in your stomach all night. 

The sweat drips along your hairline as you rub your jaw, groaning as you shift it back and forth. Working out the kinks of your hit. 

You just about fall off the bed when something small hits your back, starting you fully awake. 

When he can see how pale you are, sweating from the nausea, he approaches you slowly and hands you a few pieces of bread.

“Take this, too. It will help absorb all that blood.” 

Nodding your head, you accept his offering.

“Maybe you can put it in a blender for me. I can drink it through a straw...because I don’t see chewing in my future.” 

“That’s why I brought the fruit.” He motions to the bed where you find a somewhat bruised banana. “They were the softest things I could find.”  
Another nod of gratitude from you which he accepts, knowing full well how much it probably hurt to talk.

“What’s the plan for today big guy?” You mumble through your lips.

While you wait for him to respond, he watches you roll small balls of bread in between your fingers. You do this over and over again until the piece is small enough to fit through your tight jaw. He’s almost in a trance as he watches you continue the motions with the next piece, and the next. Roll and eat, roll and eat. Duplicating each bread ball, matching the same size as the previous one eaten. Over...and over. 

Mimic.

“I'm leaving.” The soldier stares at his feet for a moment, but looks up at you when he swears he hears you forcefully swallow your bread down.

Leaning in with your head, you wait him out to see what more he has to tell you. 

When you offer nothing, he continues.

“I need you to start eating. You’re going to need to get stronger.”

“Why? What’s happening...oh. Is it that time?” 

They must know something. Did they find Steve? Do they know he’s coming? Is this the “event” that they had been planning for? The final takedown of your body and spirit before Steve tries to save you?

“Rumlow and Rollins have been instructed to take over your care while I’m away.” 

You drop your back against the wall, sighing heavily as your heads rolls against the brick.

“You need to save your energy, and have enough strength to fight him off. Otherwise...he’s going to kill you.”

Huffing a breath, a sarcastic smile takes your mouth. 

“Nah. That can’t be. Cause I die, you die...right? Isn’t that what you said the other day.”

Popping a brow a him, both sending daggers each other’s way. 

“Cause damage not death. That’s actually a nice change of pace for you guys.” 

Rubbing his brows, he contemplates his next words carefully. 

“Listen. I can’t take care of you when I’m gone…”

“You don’t take care of me now.” You quickly remind him of his place in this game. 

Regret washes over you as you watch him nod his head up and down, surprising you as the words seem to have hurt him more than you would expect them to.

“Sorry. That was…” 

“I don’t care. Just do what I say, and you’ll make it out alive.”

“I can take care of myself. I’ll handle him, and everything else on my own. Just like I have all my life.”

Mimic

“I’m trying to help you.” His voice is more strained than usual. “Quit arguing and just fucking eat when I’m gone.” 

“You want to help? Start doing your fucking job so that I don’t have to!” 

He begins to pace the room, frustrated at your increasingly defiant behavior.

“Whether they feed me or not, whether I eat or not. He’s going to hurt me no matter how strong I am...but he won’t kill me. It doesn’t matter if the the order comes from Pierce, or someone higher up. I know he won’t. And I know deep down, even if he tried...you wouldn’t let him.”

He stops short, turning your way. 

“Don’t pretend to know me. I would kill you the minute they asked.” 

“Why? Because they told you that you were a stone cold killer?” Shaking your head, huffing in disbelief. “That’s not you. You’re better than that.”

“Just stop.” He lifts a hand up in the air, signaling you to end the conversation. 

“Why? Does it piss you off that someone thinks there is more to the obedient soldier? That somewhere deep inside, someone good is begging to get out?” You let him stew in his thoughts for a minute before enlightening him.

“Why don’t you speak to me in Russian like you do with everyone else?”

No response.

“Why don’t you hit me when asked...when ordered even?”

Nothing. 

“Okay.” You shrug. “Let’s try an easy one. Why are you helping me?”

“I don’t know.” He quickly states. 

“Yes you do.”

“Alright, enough.”

Shaking your head, you squint, studying him as he tries to keep his composure, failing to do so. “Those guys out there. They don’t see it...but I do. I see that little fight you have going on in your head everyday with yourself. And I believe there’s so much more to you than what’s on the surface.”

“Stop.”

“Why? Because I’m ri…”

“No! Because you’re stubborn and stupid. Just like your mother was! She believed in me too back then. Look where that got her. Now stop trying to prove yourself and just eat the damn food already!”

“W-what?” 

His chest heaves. His eyes twinkle with just a hint of sorrow as he watches your features drop. What had he done?

“Wait...how do you...you knew my mother?” 

“No.” His nostrils flare as the memories flood back in small waves. Her features, her voice, her kindness.

“But you said…”

“No, I didn’t.” He mumbles in your direction. “We’re done for today.” 

“Wait, please!”

Running for him, you reach for him before he’s able to twist the handle of your door. You frantically pull at the straps of his uniform, tugging on his shoulders. Begging for him to turn around. He manages to pull the door ajar, but is only able to hold it for a second before you throw your weight against it. 

“I don’t understand. How? How do you know her? Please, I need to know.” 

You wrestle with each other and he’s finally able to get both hands on you, pushing you back a few feet. Your cry out when you hit the floor, but it’s not from pain. At least not the physical aspect of it.

When you lunge back at him, you just miss his arm as he slams the door, locking it tight.

The sound of your screaming voice pierced his ears. Pleading for information, begging for him to come back, screaming obscenities as you pound on the door. The ruckus could be heard throughout the halls, causing several agents to peer out at the source of the disturbance. 

They say nothing to the soldier as he walks by. Head held high, giving nothing away. All the while his brain screaming at him to go back and make this right. 

Only there would be no second chances today. Hydra doesn’t accept do overs. What was done is done. There were no take backs here.

As you slide down the door with a tear streaked face and bloody knuckles, a wave of nausea hits you causing you to dry heave what little you had left in your stomach.

What did he know? Where they here with him? Did he...kill them?

Your thoughts flash back to your parents and the last time you saw them. It was like a movie reel that had been burned. Small clips of times spent together, but haziness in between. 

The thought of your parents being contained in this facility, succumbing to the same fate you had is enough to make you break. It’s enough to make you scream at the top of your lungs, kicking and thrashing your body against the door. 

I’m the hallway, a more than pleased Rumlow grins just outside your door. The song of your pain like a symphony in his ears.


End file.
